


Days of the Year

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Days of the Year, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, they have a thing for dessert, we're getting sexy this year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 40,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Every day of the year has an official or unofficial 'thing' that the world can celebrate. Greg unwittingly starts something that Mycroft carries on. Will anyone finish it?Disclaimer: The overall work tries to follow the same timeline. Some will probably end up stand alone chapters.Ratings and warnings may change.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 235
Kudos: 177





	1. 1st Jan - Hangover Day

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a clue where this is going to be honest. It's just a challenge for myself to try and write a little something everyday. Or at least more often than I have been.
> 
> I don't know if these tiny stories are actually going to follow the same story or if they're going to be individual drabbles soooo whatever it turns into I hope you enjoy I guess :)

Greg groans as he wakes and tries to bury himself deeper into his bed in a stubborn resistance to the day. He doesn’t need to be anywhere but his bed today and he doesn’t need to do anything but be lazy and grumpy and fight off this pounding headache.

A deep chuckle from behind him makes him huff and groan louder. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m dying.” Greg whines into his pillow.

He knows what the reply is going to be before it is uttered. “You’re not dying.”

Of course he is. His head is throbbing and it’s full of cotton and his throat hurts and scratches and his mouth is painfully dry and his muscles ache and he. Is. Dying.

“Am.” Is all his brain lets him have, though.

There is a hum and then a light knock as glass hits wood. Mycroft has brought him water and… yes, the tell tale tapping of pills hitting the bedside table too.

“Then it is a miracle! Pray, do tell the world immediately that I have found the cure to the most irreversible of all ailments post haste. It is a scientific breakthrough of astonishing proportions.” Mycroft boasts in a grand performance. “Perhaps I should patent it… Blast! This remarkable death relieving drug has already been lay claim to by a dastardly organisation. They have named it… Par-a-cet-a-mol. Incredible.”

Greg’s answering grumbles probably translate to “sarcastic arse” or something very much along those same lines. Mycroft quite agrees and seems smug about it. Greg doesn’t need to see him to know that. “Gimme the drugs.” He demands with grabbing hands as his face appears slowly from it’s cushioned prison. Mycroft tuts playfully but hands them over once Greg is sat mostly upright.

“You know full well you brought this on yourself.” Mycroft says even though his hands drop to rub gently at the calves he is now sat beside.

“You drank as much as I did.”

“I can handle that much alcohol.”

“Are you saying I’m a lightweight?”

“Not at all, dear. I’m merely pointing out that our bodies have set us different limits and we must abide by them or suffer the consequences.”

Greg throws the two pills into his mouth at the same time and swallows around a mouthful of water to get rid of them. He sets the glass back to the side after a few more tentative sips. “I prefer to think of it as successfully celebrating National Hangover Day.”

“If that is how you wish to start the new year.”

Mycroft frowns at the glint that suddenly lights Greg’s eyes. That glint means Greg’s about to say something that surprises, shocks, and/or embarrasses Mycroft.

“I seem to remember that I started the new year with the most handsome of devils kissing me senseless while sat on my lap.”

Ah. Mycroft involuntarily goes red. He does remember that now.

He doesn’t remember the fireworks, the clock’s chimes, the whistles, the cheers, the celebrations. They were all muted, sent to the back of his mind. He does remember a grin, a tug, a stumble, a laugh, a kiss.

Greg uses the momentary distraction to almost repeat the experience. He ignores his fragile head to tug Mycroft towards him where Mycroft ends up splayed across his chest as they fall back to the pillows again. Mycroft’s face is inches above Greg’s and he follows the movement of Greg’s lips as they form that grin. The temptation to lean down and steal them for his own again overwhelms him but just before he can accomplish the task Greg shifts them quickly. They somehow end up spooning, Greg being held to Mycroft’s chest with the man’s arms wrapped firmly around him. Sorcerer.

“No kissing. I’m dying.”

“I thought you were celebrating.”

Greg squeezes Mycroft’s arms across his stomach.

“That too.”

Mycroft chuckles again. He kisses the back of Greg’s neck and settles in with him for the day.


	2. 2nd Jan - Science Fiction Day

When Greg wakes up on this new morning with a still lingering headache although admittedly a less dire one he is alone. Mycroft is no longer snuggled to his back and hugging him tightly to his chest. He is disappointed but not surprised. He knows from his brief waking moment the previous night that the light outside, however dull (winter sucks), means it is another day. Mycroft is not one to laze about even on his days off. Plus he didn’t have a bout of death to sleep off like he did.

Greg swings himself out of bed in a very good imitation of a morning person. He is not and has never been one of those. He yawns and rubs both hands roughly down his face a few times as he makes his way out of the bedroom.

His search for Mycroft is a short lived one. Mycroft is lounging fully over the sofa, his legs up on the cushions and his back firmly pressed into an arm so the back of his head is lit by the lamp on the side table. It takes Greg a moment to realise that Mycroft is reading a book and another few before he catches on that his partner is wearing glasses. Mycroft licks a finger delicately and turns the page, reads a couple of lines, and then slides a bookmark between the pages. He closes the book as he turns to watch Greg come towards him.

Wait. Mycroft is wearing glasses.

“You’re wearing glasses.”

Mycroft huffs. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Good morning.” Greg replies because he is polite, you know. He is also confused, though. And persistent.

“You’re wearing glasses.”

“Yes.” Mycroft is smiling. It’s annoying.

“Why are you wearing glasses?”

“All the better to read this book with.”

“Right.” That doesn’t help. Mycroft knows it doesn’t help. It’s too early for a one sided conversation even if Mycroft means well with the joke.

Coffee. Greg needs coffee.

Before he can turn to head to the kitchen Mycroft halts him with a hand on his arm. Greg didn’t hear him get up. Christ. He’s really out of it. Coffee.

“I’ll get you a mug of coffee. Sit down before you do yourself harm, darling.”

Greg just nods and falls over the back of the sofa instead of walking around it. It’s warm where Mycroft was.

He must doze off despite the whole day he pretty much slept away because a blink and Mycroft is back in front of him with coffee and a fond smile. “Move over.”

Greg grunts loudly as he sits up. He’s never going to drink again.

“Yes you will.” Mycroft answers his unvoiced promise.

“Stop reading my mind.”

A huff of a laugh. “I’m not reading your mind. I’m reading your face. It tells much. Mostly that you are not one hundred percent yet.”

Greg lays a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I am too one hundred percent. One hundred percent the beauty to your beast.”

Mycroft offers the coffee in apology. He is not sorry, though.

“You don’t think me beastly.”

“No, I don’t. You’re wearing glasses.”

Mycroft’s smile turns into a grin.

“Indeed.”

“Why are you wearing glasses?”

“To read.”

Greg frowns but he is not upset. “Since when?”

“Today.”

“Today?”

“Yes. I’m celebrating science fiction day.”

Right.

What? Greg thought he was following the joke. Haha, Mycroft got glasses prescribed and didn't tell Greg he was even going to an optician. Right? What’s science fiction got to do with it? He asks as much.

“You celebrated hangover day so I decided I would celebrate today but it is no longer the first.” He pulls his book back into his hands and with the other hand pulls Gregory into his side. “Today is science fiction day.”

“You’re an idiot.” Greg says. That is the stupidest long winded joke.

“I don’t think so.”

“I think so. A sexy idiot. In specs. Sexy specs.”

Mycroft laughs loudly at that. “Oh hush.”

“Can I celebrate science fiction day with you?”

“Certainly. I shall read to you.”

“That’s not what I was getting at.”

“I know, scoundrel. Later. Now hush.”

“Will you wear the glasses later?”

“Hush.”

“Will you wear  _ only  _ the glasses later?” Greg adds a waggle of his brows. It is utterly ridiculous. Mycroft loves it.

Mycroft kisses him into silence.

“Hush.”


	3. 3rd Jan - Chocolate Covered Cherries Day

Greg’s not a hangover and not death headache finally clears only for him to have to go back to work.

Fun.

His time with Mycroft is always his favourite so it always hurts a little more when he has to leave him and go back to pretending that he doesn’t have this. That he doesn’t have the love of his life to go to parties with, to have dinners with, and to have relaxing days of nothingness with.

His colleagues are not to know about that part of his life. It’s for their safety and his safety and Mycroft’s safety. He understands that but he doesn’t have to like it.

Well, his colleagues are not to know about that part of his life but that doesn’t stop them from finding out tidbits and making things up about his private life. They’re mostly detectives for God’s sake, of course they’re going to guess and solve and create gossip. He would too. He has. He doesn’t blame them. Plus, he kind of enjoys that he has something to himself for once. It beats the whole building knowing some tragic part of his life and ignoring him while they talk about it behind his back. You know, like being cheated on in a very serious and almost life long relationship that ends in horrible divorce. It’s also much better to know they see him being happy again. That means something.

“How was New Year’s, chief?”

He smiles. “I’m not chief.”

“Not yet.” Sally shakes her head with her own smile and crosses her arms. She’s not done interrogating yet. “And that was evading. So, it was a really good New Year’s, then. How good was it? Did you get laid?”

Greg continues working as if  _ that  _ hadn’t just come up from a  _ colleague  _ in the  _ workplace.  _ Christ, Donavan.

“Heh, you did. Of course you did.” She stares at him for a second and squints her eyes. “Do I know her?”

That makes Greg snort. He can’t help it. She truly doesn’t know anything.

Sally’s eyes widen. “I do! Does she work here? Is it Jade?” She steps back a little to see out into the bullpen through his office door. “No, not Jade. She looks miserable.” She takes another look around the bullpen before stepping back to his desk with a frown. “No one who is in today, at least.”

Greg says nothing.

“No, no. That makes more sense. You wouldn’t date anyone from work. You’re more clever than that. Hmmm.”

Greg says nothing. He does glance up as he pulls a different file towards him across the desk. It doesn’t mean anything, Greg thought, but Sally takes it as the yes she is waiting for.

She practically bounces on her toes. “Come on, boss!”

“Hmm?” Greg finally makes a noise. Sally latches onto it.

“Do I know her? Is she the shy, quiet type? Does she work for a letter agency? Is that why you’re all hush hush? Does she work nights? Does she hate that you’re a police officer? Are we ever going to meet her? Does she hate us? Are you going to at least give me a clue?”

Greg grins and answers without looking up from his signature. “No.”

Sally groans. “No to what?”

There is silence for another minute while Sally winds herself up for another go.

“We spent three days in bed eating cherries and licking the chocolate off each other’s fingers.”

That shuts Sally right up.

She makes a few different gasping noises before settling on a disbelieving and long, “Nooo!”

“No, I didn’t. Now stop asking or I  _ will  _ be forced to feed you lies that will leave you gawking like a fish. Can we leave my private life at the door again please?”

Sally huffs and walks away with a resigned “Fine.” but Greg knows that doesn’t mean she gives up. It just means he can have the rest of the day without the non stop questions.

  
  


Later, when he leaves work and heads to what he knows is going to be an empty house, he makes a call.

“Detective Inspector! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, Mr. Holmes! I had the most wonderful idea today and I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“What are your thoughts on cherries?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were expecting smutt? From me? Hahahahaa
> 
> Well, not yet at least. It is a new year ;)


	4. 4th Jan - Trivia Day

_ I am bored. Send help. Immediately. -MH _

**Well, well. You are bored if you’ve resorted to texting. What’s the matter, love?**

_ I do not need to be here. A goddamn nanny needs to be here. However these men got into power and were trusted to run countries is beyond even my knowledge. -MH _

**Oh, poor thing. Did the nasty men not have their midmorning feed?**

_ More like midafternoon. I am no longer in the country. Apologies. -MH _

**Oh. That’s okay. I know how your work can get. Any idea when you’ll be home?**

_ No. I’m sorry. I hate this. I hate not being with you. I hate that I have to be here when I’m clearly not needed. I hate not knowing how long I’m going to have to be here. I hate not knowing where I’ll be sent next. I hate not knowing things. -MH _

**Hey, now. That’s not like you. I know you miss me, I miss you too. But it doesn’t need to be the end of the world just yet.**

_ Ha! The end of the world! -MH _

**Sorry, was I supposed to understand that?**

_ Ah. No. I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. -MH _

**Right… Not worrying at all.**

**Well, you hate not knowing things, but you actually know lots of things! I’m the one who doesn’t know things. Like, I was just wondering, does anyone know what would happen if everyone on Earth jumped at the same time? Would the planet be impacted enough to move? I just have to know.**

_ What a strange query. Do you happen to also be bored, my dear? -MH _

**Maybe. Anyway, what would happen? If you don’t know you’re allowed to say you don’t know.**

_ Well, obviously the Earth has not attempted this particular scientific experiment but in all likelihood the act would have little to no effect. The population of the planet is somewhat equally spread around its surface and therefore the impact of a landing would effectively be cancelled out by its opposite on the other side of the Earth, resulting in zero net force on the planet. -MH _

**I’ve got to say, that’s a little disappointing. Probably for the best, though, eh?**

**Alright so if that doesn’t have an impact, what would happen if everyone on a plane jumped at the same time? There’s no opposite force there, right?**

_ Actually that is incorrect. An aircraft has a lot of mass and inertia compared to the people in it and therefore that scenario would likely have less of an impact than turbulence. -MH _

**I didn’t quite understand that but I think that means the plane wouldn’t make a dramatic dive for the ground?**

_ Indeed not. -MH _

**Science sucks.**

_ It most certainly does not. -MH _

**Okay, no, it doesn’t. It is disappointing, though. I bet that you can’t even jump that high on the moon. I bet it’s all CGI.**

_ Gravity on the Moon is actually incredibly low compared to on Earth. You would only experience around 17% the force of gravity on the Moon that you would on Earth. You could jump 2 to 3 meters and stay there for a few seconds. Quite fascinating, really. -MH _

**Okay, that is pretty cool.**

**Can you tell me if we actually went to the Moon before 1969?**

_ I couldn’t possibly comment. -MH _

**Oh, come on! I wouldn’t tell anyone!**

_ I don’t know the answer. -MH _

**Yes, you do! You know everything! Why are there teeny tiny pockets in my jeans?**

_ That comes from the need for miners and such to keep their pocket watches on their person. Nowadays it is a fashion statement, I presume. -MH _

**Can a lyrebird actually mimic anything?**

_ Yes. -MH _

**Why do chefs wear those tall hats and why are there so many folds in it?**

_ I know what you are doing. -MH _

**Is there a world record for the most world records?**

_ It is unnecessary. I appreciate it. -MH _

**So is that world record if it exists. It probably exists.**

**Would Pinocchio explode if he said ‘my nose will grow now’?**

_ You are ridiculous. -MH _

**What is a happy prime?**

_ You’ve been watching Doctor Who without me. Therefore, he has told you that answer and I am disappointed that you both skipped ahead and that you weren’t listening while doing so! -MH _

**Woops?**

_ Yes, woops. -MH _

**What will it take to make it up to you?**

_ Make me an offer and I shall consider it. -MH _

**Chocolate covered cherries?**

_ Deal. -MH _

**Happy Trivia day!**

_ Scoundrel. -MH _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources (because unfortunately I am not Mycroft):
> 
> https://www.livescience.com/33383-everyone-on-earth-jumping-at-once.html
> 
> https://www.quora.com/If-everyone-in-a-plane-were-to-jump-up-at-the-very-same-time-what-would-happen-to-the-plane
> 
> https://www.universetoday.com/19710/gravity-on-the-moon/


	5. 5th Jan - Whipped Cream Day

Mycroft messages Greg all day with assurances that he will be home by the end of the week. He knows Greg assumes that to mean any time in the next week. He doesn’t correct him for that would ruin the surprise. It is Sunday. Not yet the end of the week.

Mycroft is on his way home today.

Mycroft is on his way home today with a present of sorts.

Greg and Mycroft have unofficially officially started the unspoken tradition of following these ridiculous days of the year. Mycroft doesn’t know what Greg has chosen for today since there are many websites and many different things celebrated on one day, but Mycroft has chosen for today and knows that Greg won’t be too disappointed if his plans to incorporate his own in a message or video will be obsolete now.

He knows Gregory wants him home as much as he wants to be home. It’s just the icing on the cake that he gets to involve a little more fun than usual.

Greg has been called to a matter that Mycroft makes sure will not hold him up for very long. It does, however, give him enough time to sneak in and set himself up for the best surprise of Greg’s life.

  
  


Greg slumps inside the house. He is drenched and way too wound up for a meeting that wasn’t important enough to justify making him feel like shit.

He sighs. Maybe it’s just coming home to an empty house again. It happens a lot to the both of them but they are used to it. They understand each other. Doesn’t mean he has to like it, though.

Seems there’s a lot of things he understands but doesn’t like these days. The things you do for love.

He peels himself out of his coat and hangs it up by the door. It isn’t until he’s kicking his shoes off that he notices Mycroft’s umbrella in the corner. It makes his heart speed up, his eyes light up, and his lips to form the biggest smile.

“Mycroft?” He shouts into the house. “Mycroft!”

He follows his own voice through the house since he doesn’t get a reply. It is only when he knows there is no one downstairs that he thinks maybe Mycroft was tired when he got back and could be in bed.

“Mycroft?” He asks a little more quietly now, although he’d love nothing more than to wake him for at least a moment if he is asleep.

He hasn’t been away for nearly long enough to feel so excited, really. He and Mycroft have both had miles longer away from each other before.

Greg makes to check the bedroom first despite it being the furthest room away.

He is glad that he does.

Opening the door reveals a very awake and very nude Mycroft waiting - no, _lounging_ \- in his bed, covered only to remain somewhat modest below the waist.

Greg notes the glasses perched on the end of Mycroft's nose. “Is it Christmas again already?” He asks with a grin and stalks towards the bed unable to wait for an explanation.

“No.” Mycroft answers anyway. His own grin threatens to take over his face. “I did get you a gift, though.”

He punctuates by lifting something from a tray that Greg was somehow just noticing and waving it near Greg’s mouth before taking to bite at it himself. He moans in delight as he does so. Greg’s eyes widen and his breath catches. “You got chocolate covered cherries.” He says breathlessly.

Mycroft hums in reply and waits patiently for Greg to settle properly over him on elbows with a kiss. Greg pulls back chewing the cherry. Mycroft’s eyes are dancing. “Hello, darling.” He purrs.

Greg swallows and takes another kiss from him. “Hello, handsome.”

He moves to take a cherry then decides different and wipes his fingers through the melted chocolate instead. He wipes the chocolate across Mycroft’s lips and down his chin only to lick it right back off.

“Is it spoil me rotten day?”

Mycroft hums a laugh and reaches to grip the back of Greg’s head to pull him back. Greg closes his eyes as they get caught up in a rather filthy snog.

Greg is content to remain exactly where he is, touching anywhere he can reach on his lover and listening to all the noises he can produce. He jumps in surprise, then, when he doesn’t feel or hear Mycroft move but suddenly his nose is being booped and is very suddenly cold. His eyes shoot open only to find a giggling Mycroft. That’s always a grand sight so Greg joins in but he is still confused.

Mycroft, still giggling, leans up on his own elbows to kiss the end of Greg’s nose and relieve him of curiosity.

“As it happens,” Mycroft begins, licking his lips of the evidence, “I believe it is whipped cream day.”

Greg’s pupils blow wide. His giggles stop and turn to a predatory grin. “Oh, is it?” He uses one hand to slide his still chocolatey fingers down Mycroft’s bare chest, leaving a trail behind and pushing him back to lying. “I wonder what we could do with that.”

The hands reaches lower and lower and Mycroft giggles until he can only gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cheated and wrote the last three in the last three hours ssshhhh


	6. 6th Jan - Cuddle Up Day

“I think Whipped Cream Day is my favourite day.” Are the first words Greg says when he wakes up pressed against Mycroft’s chest. He is very glad that they showered after their… activities. Leaving that for later would have made this a much stickier situation to be in.

He can feel and hear Mycroft’s laugh through his ribs. “I may concur.”

He presses his lips to Greg’s forehead. Greg presses his own to Mycroft’s chest. Then his throat. Then his chin. Mycroft meets him halfway for a proper kiss. It is short and chaste and perfect as they all are. Greg shifts himself higher so they share a pillow. They smile at each other and share a few more kisses until Mycroft’s smile grows shaky and he turns Greg in his arms so that his chest is pressed against Greg’s back.

Greg knows that Mycroft gets emotionally overwhelmed sometimes and needs to work through it without an interrogation. He sighs and relaxes into Mycroft.

“So what day is it today? Do I have something epic to look forward to?”

“Epic?”

“Shut up.”

Mycroft chuckles. It’s a little watery but nothing that Greg should interrupt to acknowledge right now. He pulls Greg closer like he did on the first day of the year. It seems so long ago but it’s hardly been a week. It is quickly becoming his new favourite thing to do.

“There were many options to choose from.” Mycroft admits and presses his lips to Greg’s neck to speak into his skin. “I think this is the best one.”

Greg shuffles further backwards even though there is nowhere to go. “What’s that, then? Have you decided to celebrate sleeping all day?” His voice is sleep filled enough that Myroft knows Greg has already settled for that one and is quickly dropping off again.

“I’ve decided that it’s the perfect Cuddle Up Day.” He whispers and Greg hums his agreement as he pulls Mycroft’s arms closer around him and holds on tight.


	7. 7th Jan - Tempura Day

Greg wakes to an empty bed and the smell of coffee rather than the alarm that he set. He assumes that Mycroft has gotten up earlier than him for work and didn’t wake him to say goodbye even though Greg has insisted multiple times that that’s what he wants. He turns over in bed to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. How early is the ridiculous man off to rule the world today, then?

Shit!

He shoots upright in panic. 10am? He’s disgustingly late for work! Why didn’t Mycroft wake him? Shit. Why didn’t his alarm go off?

He snatches and jumps into the pair of trousers folded over the back of the chair in the corner and doesn’t think twice about the dirty underwear he isn’t changing first. He grabs the first shirt he can reach hung up in his closet and shoves his arms in the sleeves. He forgets a tie figuring that there must be at least a semi clean one in a desk drawer. Then he is bounding down the stairs and rounding into the kitchen where Mycroft is sat reading on a laptop at the kitchen table.

He looks over the top of his glasses at Greg before smiling and typing something quickly.

“Do you not know what time it is?” Greg says urgently and more than a little hysterical. “I am so late!” Greg practically leaps across the room to down the coffee left in the pot and surprises even himself that he doesn’t choke with how hot it is. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Mycroft keeps typing.

“Did I do something? Are we fighting?” Greg continues, now worried that there’s something more to the silent treatment but he doesn’t have time to sort things out right now, especially as he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

Mycroft’s head snaps up at that and before his thoughts can spiral completely into a pit of no return, Mycroft’s hand catches his wrist as he passes stopping him in his tracks. “No. We’re not fighting. This was funny to watch but I won’t ever let you think that.” Mycroft explains quickly and seriously. “Nothing is wrong. You are not late to work. In fact, you don’t have to go in today.” He makes sure that he holds Greg’s gaze to make sure that everything is going in and nothing is being misinterpreted.

“I… what?”

Mycroft tugs Greg into the chair next to him and takes both hands in his. “You do not have to work today. I intercepted a message from your sergeant this morning and switched your alarm off so you could get the sleep you deserve. I hope you don’t mind that I read the message but I happened to be looking in that direction when it came up on your screen. My brain took in the message. You know how my mind works, I’m afraid. By the way, I can show you how to make message alerts private on your lock screen. Sherlock has probably taken advantage of that more than a few times.”

Mycroft is worried when Greg’s silence lasts longer than is comfortable. That is until Greg’s confusion turns into a splitting grin and he almost bounces in his chair.

“You’re an arse.” Greg says.

Mycroft baulks but cannot deny how it looks from Greg’s perspective.

“Thank you.” Greg adds and leans forward to kiss Mycroft.

“You’re welcome?” Mycroft is the one confused now. He thought he was in trouble but now he is being thanked.

Greg steals another kiss, letting go of one of Mycroft’s hands to palm the other man’s cheek. “No one has done that for me before. I just didn’t realise that I could love you any more than I already do.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows furrow. “Reading your texts? Letting you sleep through the morning? Watching you run about without the need to?”

Greg laughs. “You’re allowed to read my texts by accident, love, and I mean more along the lines of no one has thought that much about my needing sleep that they would bother to check my alarms and… stuff.” 

“Of course I would.” Mycroft say sincerely with a squeeze of Greg’s hand.

It’s about then that Greg looks down and realises what he looks like. “And I suppose it must have been funny as hell to watch me run about like my arse was on fire.”

Mycroft allows himself to laugh with him then. “Highly amusing.” He lets his eyes drop to Greg’s bare chest. “I am not complaining.”

Greg flexes under the gaze and giggles when Mycroft can’t stop staring.

“How do you feel about Tempura?”

The sudden change in conversation takes Greg off guard. “Tempura?”

“Tempura.”

“It’s tasty?”

“Oh good.” Mycroft nods to himself with a smile. “I’m going to teach you how to make the best tempura.”

“Okay.” Greg accepts but is confused as to where this has come from. “Any particular reason?”

“Celebrating Tempura Day is easy. You gather up the ingredients necessary to create a tempura, be it a homemade recipe or one you found online, and make the dish to serve it with family as a happy dinner meal.” Mycroft recites perfectly from what Greg assumes must have been a website that Mycroft was reading from when he came in.

“Sounds perfect.” Greg says. “With family.” He smiles. “We’re not inviting Sherlock. Not today.” He adds although he knows that’s not what Mycroft meant.

“Not today.” Mycroft agrees. “I have ideas for tonight that certainly do not involve Sherlock.” He cringes. “I’ll be deleting that image.”

Greg laughs. He is so glad that Mycroft is his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse my uncultured self but, confession: I had to look up what tempura was and I'd rather do this than write them cooking it and butchering the dish. *locks self away*


	8. 8th Jan - Bubble Bath Day

Greg sighs as he lowers himself into the bathtub slowly. The hot water feels delightful and immediately begins to soothe some of the aches and pains he acquired during yet another long day. He honestly can’t think of anything better he would rather do than to sit here and do nothing until the water almost turns cold and then he’s going to bed.

Perfect.

He can’t even remember the last time he allowed himself the luxury of time for a bath. It’s always quick showers before work and hot showers to wash away the grime and… okay so he has long showers when Mycroft joins him but that’s never planned, is it? Mycroft just shows up in the steam behind him and magics them some time beneath the spray together. Meddling meddler. So, yes, he has time for baths, he just doesn’t take them.

Today, though. Today he aches like he hasn’t before and it can’t all be from working a long shift. He aches but can’t even bring himself to imagine standing under the shower without the fear of keeling over before he can open a bottle of shampoo. He aches but can’t bring himself to even look at the bottle of prescription pills behind the bathroom mirror. He aches and can’t ask Mycroft to rub some feeling back into his knees because his partner is busy ruling the free world.

He aches.

Greg presses his fists into his thighs where the water isn’t quite loosening his muscles yet. His knuckles are digging into the skin and the slight pain of the pressure feels better than the throbbing that had started as he stood to leave his office.

He drops his head back, his nape resting against the lip of the tub, and closes his eyes. His heels push into the bottom of the tub since he can’t reach the other side of Mycroft’s ridiculously sized boat of a bath. It’s the best he can do to stretch and work his calves before he relaxes completely and lets the water do its job.

The silence of the room settles over Greg and it makes him wants to itch. However, he can’t even bring himself to reach for soap or gel to wash and make some sort of noise. To do anything. He eventually lets his body sink further into the water until his chin rests on the top. He watches for a few minutes as his breath causes ripples along the otherwise stilling surface. Then suddenly he takes a deeper breath to hold and squeezes his eyes shut as he plunges his head the rest of the way into the water.

He thinks that the sudden motion knocks something else in beside his feet but doesn’t worry himself to check what it is. It’ll be a bottle or soap dish. Nothing that will be broken or damaged by a bit of water.

When the muted clatter stops Greg realises that the silence under water is less of a silence and more like a gentle hum. He hums a little just to hear that and it feels louder somehow like it’s coming out of his chest. It makes him laugh but only in his head. He doesn’t want to inhale any water.

Greg lets himself drift with his thoughts without falling asleep. He knows he can hold his breath for a remarkably long time for someone who doesn’t swim or dive but knows the dangers of slipping up. It gives him time to feel some of his stronger aches melt away and to notice that he can feel every tiny movement as the water almost holds him. He shifts his head slightly and feels the change by his legs. He taps his fingers against the bottom and hears it above himself. He holds himself completely still and feels the water laugh.

Water doesn’t laugh. Odd.

His lungs soon tell him they need air so he pushes himself upright and pushes his hands over his face to push the excess away from his eyes. When he opens his eyes he finds a brighter room and an amused politician standing in the doorway.

“You’re home early.” Greg announces the obvious.

Mycroft laughs. Ah, of course. Water doesn’t laugh. Mycrofts do.

“Yes. I can tell you weren’t expecting me.”

Greg frowns. “I’m sorry. I would have offered a joint bath if I’d known.”

“Nonsense, your muscles and joints required the relief whether I was present or not. Seems you got a bit carried away, though.” Mycroft takes a step forward and closes the door behind him.

Greg sighs. “I guess it’s kind of peaceful under the water.” He shrugs and then realises what it might have looked like if Mycroft had been standing there for long. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I wasn’t trying anything.”

“I know, my love.” Mycroft answers immediately. He is certain he would not miss those signs. “That isn’t to what I was referring.” He says a little more playfully and Greg cannot be more confused.

“What?”

“My dear, you look like the abominable snowman.” He flips the bathroom mirror open to angle it where he knows Greg will be able to see himself in it.

Besides where he had wiped at his face, Greg has failed to notice that he is absolutely covered in bubbles. He looks down at himself in shock. “I didn’t make a bubble bath.” Greg whispers in disbelief.

Mycroft chuckles as he rolls up his sleeves. “I believe you.” He steps up to the bath and leans in to capture Greg’s lips in a soft kiss. As he does, he reaches into the bubbles and produces an open bottle of bubble bath.

Ah. That’s what had fallen in.

“Ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah’.”

Mycroft swiped some bubbles off his own chin where Greg had shared and then took a proper look over his beloved.

“How do you feel?”

Greg sighed. The bath had certainly helped but he still  _ hurt _ .

He didn’t have to say anything. Mycroft nodded. “Right, then.” Mycroft held out his hands for Greg to take. “Let’s get you warm and dry and maybe I could tempt you with a massage.”

“But-” Mycroft interrupted before he could protest.

“I’m fine, Gregory. You’re hurting and I can help. Let me help.”

He pulls Greg to standing and helps him step out of the tub. Mycroft grabs a towel from the rail behind him and drapes it over Greg’s head, giving him a little rub down, then pulling it around his shoulders. “There, the yeti have released you.”

Greg laughs. Then he bends and swipes a handful of bubbles that end up on Mycroft’s nose.

Mycroft gasps. “Scoundrel!”

Greg kisses him which purposefully steals some bubbles for his own nose. “Your scoundrel.” Greg states with a grin.

Mycroft grins back.

“Later. Massage first.”

“Later.”


	9. 9th Jan - Law Enforcement Appreciation Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know by now that these are unbetad and mostly just streams of consciousness. They will also probably be late all year round... so there's that.
> 
> Have fun at your own risk!

Mycroft stands before his open closet and peers at himself in the full length mirror that makes up the inside of one closet door. He is wearing everything of his three piece but his suit jacket and shoes. He places the second emerald cufflink through the cuff and tugs to straighten the sleeves. As he does the cufflink drops to the floor before it’s securely fastened. 

He tugs at his trousers at the thighs to pull them up as he squats to fetch the rogue gem. At this level, though, his eyes catch on something hidden beneath the shoe rack at the bottom of his closet. Mycroft inches forward and drops to kneel on one knee to better reach for the curious item.

A box, much the same size as a regular shoebox, is what he pulls forward.

The box is free of decoration or label and Mycroft does not remember placing it there nor ever owning it. This is a strange occurrence since he remembers everything.

Rather than assuming that he has lost his mind, he imagines that Gregory has secreted away a gift or hidden a memory from himself. Despite the risk that Gregory may not want him to see whatever is inside Mycroft opens it. The temptation outweighs the risk and he is certain that Gregory wouldn’t have left something secret in with Mycroft’s belongings that he will most definitely see on a daily basis.

The guess is not very far from the truth. The contents of the box are both a gift and a memory and yet Mycroft knows neither were really meant for him. He must simply bask in the knowledge of their existence. Although, he will not lie to Gregory that he has found the box. Rather, Gregory must answer some very important questions on the matter of the contents.

The first being why he would need to hide these pictures at all. Honestly, if Gregory thought he was anything but astonishingly handsome and down right sexy in these… Yes, Mycroft would need to have some stern words.

The photographs fill the box almost to the brim and every single one of them include Greg, alone or with colleagues and one distinguishable one that was possibly taken at a family affair, in his formal police uniform.

Mycroft has such a strong reaction to the images that he has to quickly come to terms with an unknown uniform kink of some kind. Even if that is only specifically Gregory in a uniform kink.

Christ.

He doesn’t really have the time to indulge since the man himself would be here to collect him for their dinner reservations at any moment (Gregory insisted) but he shifts onto his bottom on the floor anyway. He is lost in the years passing him as he flips through the box.

A bright smile as he shakes the hand of a commanding officer.

A professionally stern face as he sits staged amongst his peers.

A tongue pulled to a colleague or friend as he fastens new epaulets to his shoulders.

His hair turns from chocolate brown to devilish silver by half way through but, most notably, if Mycroft didn’t already know most of this man’s story, he would be able to recount it perfectly in how his eyes change.

At first they are expressive in his youth. Then they crinkle at the corners. Then they fade behind a fake smile. The last few make Mycroft feel as though he’s been physically struck in the chest. He knows when they were taken and he is so glad that this time for Greg has passed with his presence.

The last photo slips from his fingers as a hand on his shoulder causes him to startle.

“You weren’t supposed to see those.” Mycroft hopes that he doesn’t imagine the ‘yet’ that goes unsaid.

“My apologies. My curiosity won out.” He isn’t remotely sorry.

Greg smiles at that. “Of course it did. My fault for putting them under your nose.” He makes to sit beside Mycroft and reach for the top most photo that is still clutched between his fingers. “I didn’t know what to do with them but I didn’t want to throw them away.”

Mycroft’s eyes widen. He gasps. “Throw them away? Now, why on Earth would you dream of doing that?” He doesn’t realise that he’s turned slightly as if to shield them from such a ridiculous notion. Greg shrugs and doesn’t mention it.

“Because I worked my arse off to get promoted out of that stupid costume.”

Mycroft baulks. Then his lips press together in a thin line. He breathes a moment and looks over Greg’s face who is watching him patiently, waiting for him to understand.

“That is no costume.” He begins, and holds up what he thinks is the most flattering image of Gregory laughing away from the camera, unknowingly captured in the moment. His whole body is in frame from his shined shoes to his police issue cap. “This is the single most arousing thing I have ever seen.”

Mycroft was expecting a smug smirk or a playful smack in reaction to those words. What he does not expect is Greg to suddenly seem so crestfallen and disappointed.

He frowns too.

“Of course. You like the uniform.”

Mycroft resists rolling his eyes because he knows that will not help matters. Instead he places the pictures back into the box perfectly without looking and reaches out with his hands to frame Gregory’s face in his gentle palms. “Gregory.” He swipes a thumb over his partner’s cheek. Greg allows eye contact at that. “I am unashamedly proud of you for many reasons and that uniform shows me just how hard you have worked to get to where you are now because it shows me where you started. You started at the bottom like everyone else and climbed to the top without any help but your own. That uniform represents the struggle, but also the victories. How many cases did you have to solve for Detectives to take the credit for before you could garner the deserved attention for yourself? How many criminals did you have to ground before you could climb atop them for your superiors to see you over the hole they created of their own incompetence?” He smiles then. “And how many Sherlocks did you save before they led you on your journey to me?” 

Greg is silent in his awe. 

“I cannot begrudge a uniform that led you to me one way or another. I also cannot let you think that I do not find every single aspect of your being worthy of anything less than my complete devotion. So please believe me when I say it is the single most arousing thing I have ever seen precisely because it is you that is wearing it.”

They stare at each other for a minute. Two minutes. Mycroft is worried that he overstepped like some lovesick fool spouting awful poetry. Greg’s expression is indecipherable and doesn’t change but he leans in closer, oh so slowly, until they are kissing. It starts at a simple press of their lips but then Greg’s hand comes up to Mycroft’s face too and he tugs him forward into a deeper kiss as he screws his eyes shut. Mycroft falls into it willingly with a relieved sigh although he doesn’t quite know if he has convinced Gregory out of his assumption that he is just a uniform.

When it is getting hard to breathe Greg pulls back to their original position, their hands holding each other’s faces so they aren’t too far apart. They are both breathing heavily. Mycroft is dazed and Greg’s grin is returning.

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” Mycroft replies genuinely yet he is still stunned. “What exactly is it that I did so that I can do it again?”

Greg laughs. He runs his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. “You were being you.”

“How helpful. I shall continue to be myself, then.”

Greg snorts in amusement and then sighs and becomes gentle again. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Mycroft’s eyes soften. He knows what Greg means. That doesn’t require him to leave off the sarcasm, though.

“I was simply born this way.”

There is that playful slap and Mycroft offers his own smug grin. “Shut up.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to be myself.” 

Greg is laughing uncontrollably, silently. He presses that laughter to Mycroft’s lips in a bruising kiss. “Shut up.”

“But what about our dinner plans?”

“What dinner plans?” Greg asks overly innocently, knowing full well what dinner plans.

Mycroft watches as Greg’s hands slip away from his face and down his body. “I have no idea. I must have been mistaken.”

Greg hums and grips at Mycroft’s hips as he somehow spins himself back onto his knees to push forward over Mycroft.

“Do you still have your uniform?” Mycroft asks innocently enough as he allows himself to fall slowly in Greg’s capable hands.

“Shut  _ up. _ ”


	10. 10th Jan - Houseplant Appreciation Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know if this can happen but I wrote it anyway because my brain said so. It's on the internet so I hope I can trust you not to take this as fact. I just wanted an excuse for Mycroft to admit to a dumb 'weakness'.

Mycroft opens the door to his guest and smiles widely at the man on the other side. “Gregory.” He greets as he always does, but rather than take a step backwards to let him in as is usual, he notes that Greg is hiding something. “Do you bring gifts?” He makes a dramatic gesture as if playing at being over the top but he truly is charmed.

“Maybe.” Greg grins devilishly.

He is the one to step forward.

“I’m always saying how I’ll spruce up your place. You know, put some colour in that black and white show home you’ve got. Well now I have an excuse.” He produces a potted plant from behind his back and bows with it held above him in offering. “Happy houseplant appreciation day.”

At first Mycroft laughs and makes to reach for the offered plant. However, as soon as he touches the base of the pot his eyes land on the plant in question and he whips his arms back to himself sharpish, dropping the pot as Greg has let go too.

“Mycroft!” Greg grabs at Mycroft’s wrists as he’s suddenly concerned the man is about to keel over. He isn’t even worried nor thinking at all about his neglected gift smashed at their feet. “Are you alright?” His concern grows into shock as Mycroft curses and twists out of his hold to run back into the house.

Greg follows quick on his heels wishing he knew what was wrong so he could fix it. What did he do wrong?

“Mycroft?” He asks cautiously at the man now running his hands and arms under the running water of his kitchen sink.

“My apologies.” Mycroft says and it’s uncharacteristically quiet and guilty although Greg is certain that there was no wrongdoing on his part. Greg watches as Mycroft scrubs at his reddening arms and something like recognition dawns in his eyes. “There are very few things that present as a weakness to me.” Mycroft smiles at his own poor humour. “But those are alstroemeria.” He looks up and catches Greg’s eyes then. “And I am quite allergic.” He adds as if that isn’t already blindingly obvious by now.

“Shit.” Greg says although he thinks he came to that conclusion himself. “I didn’t mean to nearly bloody kill you. The woman in the shop told me that they symbolised devotion, that they meant I would always be there. I was feeling sentimental and soppy so I thought fuck it, they’re perfect. Of course you’re allergic.” He wipes a hand over his face and pushes his hair back out of his eyes. “I’m the one that should be apologising.”

Mycroft smiles despite his situation. He grabs a tea towel and attempts to pat his arms dry so he can apply some cream to reduce the slight swelling. “Be calm, darling. I’m not dying. My reaction is not so severe as that. I hardly touched it.”

Greg’s eyes drop to where Mycroft isn’t not itching at his wrists, though. His lips press thinly together and his face falls. “But I grabbed at you with my plant hands.” That startles a quick laugh from Mycroft that Greg doesn’t feel is warranted.

“It is a rare condition that baffled many a doctor in my youth considering that these types of allergies usually stick to the eyes, head, and neck. I’m sure you’re no stranger to pollen allergies. My skin is just extremely sensitive to a particular strain of flower for no discernable reason than evolution being a silly beggar.” He attempts a little humour to bring that cloud from out of Gregory’s gaze. “You were not to know.”

Without replying Greg steps around Mycroft to turn the taps back on and thoroughly wash his own hands and arms. When he turns back to Mycroft he is finishing rubbing an allergy cream to his already healing skin. 

“Hydrocortisone.” Mycroft holds them up to him for examination. “See? All better.”

Greg makes as if to reach and touch but hesitates long enough that Mycroft makes the move for him. He uses Greg’s wrist to pull the man towards him even as he steps into their embrace himself. He pulls Greg’s arms around his waist and then drapes his own arms over Greg’s shoulders. Their faces are so close now that Greg has nowhere else to look and Mycroft’s smile is directed at him for so long that it eventually cracks him and he returns it.

“Thank you for my gift.”

Greg almost frowns again but Mycroft’s fingers on his neck make it falter. “It was a bad gift.”

“It was not.” Mycroft tuts but it isn’t scolding.

“It’s made a mess of your doorstep.”

Mycroft shakes his head. He knows Gregory is trying to create a blame for himself to take.

“I made the mess.” Mycroft counters.

Greg pulls Mycroft against his chest with his hands on Mycroft’s lower back. Mycroft initiates a slow kiss that Greg shrugs out of.

“Is it just the lilies you’re allergic to?”

“Peruvian lilies. Yes, that I am aware.”

A hand smoothing its way across Mycroft’s back makes him think that Greg is finally satisfied that no harm has been done. However, Greg retreats from another attempt to kiss him.

“Maybe I should take you to choose your own houseplant, then.” Greg says with a new idea glinting behind his eye. “There’s still no colour in here.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes playfully. “Of course, dear, but not right now I should think.” He leans into Greg with purpose and raises his eyebrows.

Greg grins and presses a quick kiss to Mycroft cheek before stepping away and out of Mycroft’s hold. “I think I left your front door open.” He says to Mycroft’s confusion. He bounces on his feet as he moves backwards. “We may as well use it. Go out. Shopping. For flowers.”

Mycroft shakes his head with mirth. He knows he’s going to follow Greg wherever he wishes to go. “Houseplant appreciation day it is.”


	11. 11th Jan - Jump In A Puddle And Splash A Friend Day

They walk side by side as they cross the road. If Mycroft notices that Greg keeps ‘accidentally’ stumbling into him, he doesn’t say anything.

Date night was simply wonderful and Greg doesn’t want the night to end just yet, even if one of them is going to end up at the other’s place anyway. It is a clear night that tips onto the right side of cold that means they can stay out without becoming ill but Greg can use it as an excuse to lean into Mycroft’s warmth.

As they step back onto the curb and head towards a nearby park, Mycroft taps the floor with the umbrella he is holding in his other hand. “It is going to rain soon.” He says almost mysteriously without explanation.

Greg looks to the sky before shaking his head. “Where’d you get that from? I can see the stars where there’s no clouds. Plus, the weatherman said there were low chances.”

Mycroft hums. “While I am certain the weather reporter was simply reading the information given to them at the time, that was either false information or that forecast is no longer applicable.” He steers them through the park gates anyway.

Greg is skeptical but knows that Mycroft is rarely wrong about… anything. “Good thing you’ve got your brolly then.” He says instead of suggesting they head back before they’ve even had the chance to take in the night. He even steps closer and hooks his hands into the crook of Mycroft’s free arm, almost snuggling into him. Mycroft’s smile proves that he doesn’t object. Rather, he brings his arm up to trap at least one of Gregory’s hands there.

They amble up and down the park’s paths without destination in comfortable silence. There are more people around than he expected, although thinking about it, it is a Saturday so it doesn’t concern him. It’s just something he notices. Maybe it’s because in his mind he can argue that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t believe Mycroft’s prediction. Everyone else saw what he did in the weather report. Despite the people it is quiet until there’s a rumble in the air that seems to shake the trees.

Then it starts to rain.

Low chances, his arse!

Before Greg can protest that Mycroft can’t always be right about everything the man in question has his umbrella open above them without releasing his hold on Greg. Mycroft says nothing and acts like the umbrella has been held aloft the whole time. However, Greg recognises the smug look in the slight tightening of his eyes and can’t help but huff a laugh.

“If I hadn’t been with you the whole time I would accuse you of causing it to rain just to fuck with me.”

Mycroft chuckles. “So you think me a God now?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.” He teases back.

They steer each other towards the band stand for cover but everyone else has had that same idea. Instead of subjecting themselves to the squeeze of too many bodies for an unknown amount of time to wait it out, they find some leaky shelter beneath an arching tree to stand under with their single umbrella.

Greg stares out into the downpour with a slight frown. Mycroft assumes that means Greg hates that their walk has been spoiled. He apologises. Greg laughs.

“You didn’t actually make it rain, Mycroft. I just remembered something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I remembered what today is.”

Mycroft watches curiously as Greg removes himself from his own octopus hold on Mycroft’s arm and steps away. He makes to protest when he keeps stepping until he’s no longer beneath the cover of his umbrella but Greg holds out a hand to stop him. The grin that is showing through Greg’s poor poker face has Mycroft on edge. What could the man possibly be doing in the rain to cause such a villainous expression?

Ah. Of course.

He was in a relationship with a child.

“I’m sorry.” Greg tries for a look of apology but can’t pull it off through his loud childish giggles.

“No, you’re not.”

The detective looks Mycroft head to toe in all of his sopping wet, miserable, utterly attractive adorableness. His open umbrella hangs limp by his side now (it is hardly needed now), his hair falls into his eyes where it isn’t plastered to his face, and his pout… Greg wants to kiss it. He does.

“No. I’m not.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Yeah, but I’m your scoundrel.”

Mycroft’s smile returns and his whole face relaxes into complete affection. He forgets that he is soaked through to the bone.

Until Greg finds another puddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be no more chapters over the weekend as I've booked some days off work to go visit my friends. I shall see you all soon, though.


	12. 12th Jan - Kiss A Ginger Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken so long because I really struggled with not taking it too far and only show little kisses in one day of their lives. Now I feel there's something missing. Therefore, I'm going to be making this chapter into a fic of its own in the future.

It started early this morning when Greg walked into the kitchen and straight to Mycroft who he pulled into a very passionate kiss including teeth and tongue and a whole lot of groping. It surprised Mycroft into inaction for a few seconds before he could reciprocate in kind.

When Greg pulled back with his eyes still closed Mycroft had to place his hand on the counter behind him to hold himself up.

“What was that for?” Mycroft asked breathlessly although he definitely wasn’t complaining.

“I just wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mycroft said dazedly and watched stunned as Greg left the room presumably to actually get ready for the day.

\---

Just after midday Greg surprised Mycroft at work with a homemade pasta dish for lunch. “You must get sick of those awful sandwiches they bring round to stop you from having an excuse to leave your work.”

“Most ardently. Thank you.”

They each tuck into their lunch and converse about anything and nothing while they eat. It is nothing they haven’t done before. However, they tend to keep their relationship out of work and consequently their offices, so when Greg doesn’t take his leave as usual but steps around Mycroft’s desk to kiss him goodbye Mycroft is once more stunned.

Greg hums against his lips and Mycroft cannot help but tilt his head and push back into the kiss.

It is over too soon and yet Mycroft is still breathless. He doubts he will ever have breath left in his lungs after Gregory has kissed him.

“What was that for?” He parrots himself from this morning.

“I just wanted to kiss you.” Is of course his reply and Greg is already nearly out the door.

Mycroft straightens himself and coughs away the awkwardness he has conjured in his own mind.

“Right.”

\---

Greg greets Mycroft at the door when he finally returns home from work. He hasn’t done that before so Mycroft knows that he must have been watching and waiting for him. “Gregory, what a surprise.” Is what Mycroft is going to say. However, as was becoming the theme of the day, Greg cuts him off with a kiss before he can begin.

Mycroft hums and drops his coat to the floor in order to grip Greg’s elbows where he has been pulled in by the belt loops. He really isn’t complaining about the sudden rise in affection. If he was anyone else he may assume that Gregory is hiding something that is seriously wrong but Mycroft would know of anything so drastic. He will take Greg at his word that he simply wishes to kiss until Greg states otherwise.

Perhaps Mycroft could play, too.

Greg releases them with a happy sigh. Mycroft licks his lips and stares at Gregory as the man bends to pick up the coat for him.

“You usually aren’t so rough with your clothes.”

“You usually aren’t so amourous in the doorway.”

Greg grins.

He hangs up the coat by leaning around and into Mycroft.

“I just wanted to kiss you.” He whispers with his lips against Mycroft’s ear and then he’s stepped away and down the hallway.

“Of course you did, devil.” Mycroft breathes and follows.

\---

All through dinner Mycroft watched Greg glance up at him through his eyelashes as he grinned behind every bite of food.

Minx.

What is he up to?

He runs the plates under the hot tap one last time to wash away the suds and then stands them in the rack next to the sink. He thinks Gregory is waiting for him in the lounge until he turns on the spot and is suddenly locked in place by strong arms and a heated gaze.

He sucks in a breath and lowers his head.

“Gregory.” His voice rumbles low and he feels Greg shiver.

Greg nudges there noses together, stroking the tip of his nose down the side of Mycroft’s and across his cheek. He closes his eyes. Mycroft stays utterly still. This is Gregory’s game.

Their lips touch, the briefest of contact, and then Greg is leaving him wanting more yet again.

He doesn’t need to speak for Mycroft to know he’s being invited to bed by those dark eyes.

\---

They are lay in bed later, Greg’s head on Mycroft’s chest and Mycroft arms wrapped securely around Greg. They haven’t moved in quite a while when Mycroft presses his lips to the top of Greg’s head.

Greg smiles in understanding.

“What was that for?”

“I just wanted to kiss you.” Mycroft gives Greg’s answer. He frowns when he can feel Greg laughing. “What? I did.”

“I know you did, love.” Greg says between giggles. “That isn’t what I’m laughing at. Do you know what today is?”

“No. Are we still doing that?”

Greg snorts. “We haven’t stopped.”

“Oh. So you needed a website to tell you to kiss me?” Mycroft asks with a pout now. He knows that isn’t what Greg really means but some insecurities never fully fade.

Greg sighs in exasperation and lifts his head to look Mycroft in the eyes. He knows this one all too well. “No.” He tells him with a smile. “I needed a website to tell me not to hold back every time I had the inclination.”

“Oh.”

Mycroft’s face softens at the admission despite his not really feeling affronted in the first place. Greg kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg still didn't tell Mycroft what day it was! He'll find out eventually, Greggy.


	13. 13th Jan - Clean Off Your Desk Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating hasn't gone up just yet... I'll let you know before any chapters that may venture a little further into mature in case you want to skip them.

Mycroft lets himself into Greg’s office like he owns the place. It took a while before Mycroft stopped knocking at Greg’s insistence. Greg likes it this way.

The door slides closed silently behind him and he slips around to Greg’s side of the desk. The man is finishing up a phone call but it isn’t an urgent matter or Greg wouldn’t have waved him over. He leans back against the desk as he waits for the inspector to finish the call so that he can kiss him properly in greeting. 

It is a miracle that Greg’s grin doesn’t make its way into his voice as the conversation sounds serious and professional. Witnessing the deceptive skill makes Mycroft think him all the more sexy. He lets that particular thought cross his expression.

Greg doesn’t miss it.

Suddenly the call is ending and Greg is leaning against him. He is pushed into the edge of Greg’s desk. “Hello.” Greg whispers against him. They are in a mirror image of one of their kisses from yesterday, the one that lead to so much more. Their noses are brushing ever so slightly. Mycroft can’t help that this makes him feel off kilter without anything actually happening. Greg is so close and Mycroft can smell him and can see the colour of his eyes disappear behind the black. That does things to a man.

Apparently it isn’t only Mycroft that is affected.

Pens, paper, and files of all kinds find their way to the floor as Greg uses Mycroft’s distraction to his advantage.

“Gregory!” Mycroft attempts to shout at the indignation of being hauled onto Greg’s desk but is thwarted by Greg’s mouth on his. He knows he should argue that they are at work, that they have rules on this, but Greg doesn’t have the same risks here as Mycroft does at his own office. It was just very unprofessional. Very unprofessional and improper and wrong but oh so  _ right. _

His hips are gripped harshly and pulled forward into Greg’s as the man grinds himself forward into him. Their kiss is all tongue and teeth and crushing noses but it’s perfect. Mycroft can’t help but grip and pull on Greg’s hair, his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his hips. He pulls Greg’s shirt free of his trousers and grips his fill of Greg’s skin, too.

Greg growls and bites at Mycroft’s bottom lip when the buttons of Mycroft’s waistcoat don’t want to cooperate. They keep slipping through his fingers or refusing to play fair and just slot through the button holes. He is about to just say fuck it and rip them open without thought when there is a knock at the door and every muscle in his body freezes. He didn’t lock the door. He didn’t fucking lock his office door. The door that is open in the middle of the day. The door that he has insisted on many occasions that no officer needs an invitation to come straight in if it isn’t indeed locked. He is so screwed.

“Boss, there’s a-”

Greg attempts to push himself away and try for an uncompromising position but it is too late. Sally is slack jawed and wide eyed, stare flicking between himself over Mycroft’s shoulder and the back of Mycroft’s head.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Greg says in a high voice, desperate to control a situation that can’t be controlled.

Sally stares a bit longer.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Greg shouts it this time though it is even higher in pitch.

The Sergeant’s jaw clicks shut seconds before she swings the office door shut behind her.

Greg lets his head drop to Mycroft’s shoulder and groans in frustration and embarrassment. There is no way this looked like anything other than exactly what it was. Damn it. Even Mycroft’s fingers scratching their way through his hair doesn’t bring him away from the absolute agony that will be living with Sally’s knowing look.

“I do think that was our cue to cease and desist, dear.” Mycroft says but doesn’t make to move either.

Greg groans again. Mycroft is a menace and a nuisance and a really really annoying man. He can feel the idiot laughing right now. It’s really not funny. He has to work here for God’s sake.

He is suddenly very grateful that Mycroft’s buttons weren’t cooperating. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Sally had gotten any more of an eyeful.

“Can you kidnap Sally and bribe her into forgetting she saw any of this?” He pleads, still pressed into Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft chuckles. “I think she is more formidable than my bank account.”

“Then kidnap me instead. I don’t need to be bribed.”

Mycroft finally uses that as his excuse to lift Greg’s head so they can look at each other. It is when their eyes meet that Greg realises he just called himself easy. He frowns but it isn’t untrue when it comes to Mycroft.

“I know.” Is all Mycroft says with that damned smile. “I do believe that was already met with success.”

Greg slaps him playfully on the knee.

“My price just went up.”

Mycroft makes a show of thinking about it before nodding solemnly. “I shall consider it doubled.” He taps his chin. “No, tripled.”

“Alright, tosser.” Greg laughs. Doubling and tripling nothing makes nothing, he knows that. “Off with you! Get off my desk.”

Mycroft complies immediately but that of course means that he nudges himself forward slowly into Greg’s space and then slides down Greg’s body as he stands.

Greg groans. “This is why we can’t do this at work.”

Mycroft looks smug. He shrugs.

“You started it.”

Then he rubs it in by looking nothing but one hundred percent put together as he leaves Greg’s office. The smug bastard won’t be so smug when he realises that Greg has no idea why he was there in the first place.

Said smug bastard is definitely still smug later when he tells Greg that he was looking for a distraction so his brain would come up with an answer to a work problem. And that he returned to his own office with the solution.


	14. 14th Jan - Organise Your Home Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is definitely mature. Not many will be, so don't worry if you want to skip this chapter.
> 
> Also apologies if you enjoy reading smut and this seems bad. It's my first go round this particular writing block.
> 
> Also also none of this shit is betad *shrug* when is it ever with me?

It’s one of those days that Greg mostly finds annoying. He has the day off but Mycroft has been called into work for an emergency meeting of some secret kind. He usually spends these days lazing about watching crap telly with a beer or two but he feels fidgety and can’t relax.

He does take some time to look up what day of the year it is for some inspiration. May as well continue now they’ve made a habit of it, no?

Well, they don’t own any pets to dress up as the first item suggests. He very briefly considers going to adopt a pet in order to dress it up but the thought passes the moment he imagines Mycroft’s disgusted face at car hair or dog slobber on his furniture. Celebrating international kite day would require going outside and as much as that would give him something to do he doesn’t quite have the right energy to commit to the outside world today. The next offers poetry at work but  _ damn it, internet,  _ he isn’t at work. That’s the problem.

He almost gives up scrolling through the rest of today’s suggestions when he comes across one that includes the word ‘home’ and that catches his eye.

When Mycroft comes home earlier than usual he bypasses his personal office and finds Greg in their shared study. The man has his back to Mycroft and doesn’t seem to notice Mycroft’s presence so Mycroft takes the time to appreciate Greg’s form. Greg is bent slightly and looks to be measuring the space between objects on his desk. Mycroft raises an eyebrow at the task and his other joins it as he watches the muscles in Greg’s back and down to his backside.

“I can hear you judging me.”

If Mycroft were another man he would have startled. He doesn’t acknowledge that he didn’t know Greg knew he was there.

“I would never judge you, darling.”

Greg turns only his head and the top of his body to give the man a look. “That wasn’t very convincing,  _ darling. _ ”

Mycroft smiles.

“May I ask what it is you’re doing?”

“You may ask.” The grin is evident in Greg’s voice although he has turned back to his task away from Mycroft.

Mycroft hums his amusement and steps forward, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slipping from it. He hangs it over the back of a chair that wasn’t there earlier as he continues forward.

Greg must hear Mycroft approach but he doesn’t move from his task.

He nudges a stack of papers a few millimeters to the left. It seems a bit much even to Mycroft who appreciates structure and order.

“What is it you’re doing?” Mycroft asks again when he is close enough to speak it against Greg’s ear. Greg shivers and finally makes to turn around properly. Mycroft stops him by taking that final step so he is pressed along Greg’s back and places his hands on Greg’s upper arms, his little fingers touching skin below the short sleeves of Greg’s t-shirt.

“Organising.”

Greg takes a deep breath that catches when Mycroft begins to move his hands down his arms. The tingling left behind by Mycroft’s unexpectedly light touch makes Greg accidentally let go of the end of the measuring tape. The metal tape snaps back into its plastic body, catching Greg’s thumb as it does. Mycroft’s eyes immediately catch the line of red against his skin. He lifts the hand to his mouth over Greg’s shoulder and presses an open mouthed kiss on the mark, almost sucking on the tip of his thumb. It makes Greg weak at the knees.

Mycroft, of course, notices.

He slides back a tad and uses his grip on Greg’s hand to spin the man around to face him. It is now Mycroft’s turn to push Greg up and onto the desk and this time they have no chance of getting caught by intruders.

Greg groans as he hears something fall to the floor. “I just sorted that.”

Mycroft huffs a laugh as he steps back into the space between Greg’s legs and bends to nip at his neck. Amusement dances in Mycroft’s eyes as he slips one hand slowly up Greg’s chest under his shirt, and then slowly down again to rest just above the waistband of his jeans. “Would you like me to come back later when you’ve finished?”

“Don’t you dare.” Greg breathes in a rush and grips at Mycroft’s tie to tug him into a rather filthy kiss. When they break apart Greg has rid Mycroft of his tie and waistcoat, and undone half of the buttons on his shirt. His hair is also mussed and stuck at odd angles which means Greg had time to run greedy fingers through that too.

Greg’s shirt is pulled off him hastily between that kiss and the next. 

“Bed.” Greg sighs the suggestion into Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft has other ideas. He uses one arm around the small of Greg’s back to both tug him forward slightly, which causes them to rub together, and the other to shove everything else from the desk onto the floor. This time Greg doesn’t protest. He laughs and moans and arches against Mycroft for more pressure, more contact, more friction.

If Mycroft weren’t kissing Greg like his life depended on it, Greg might have mentioned Mycroft’s obvious attention to finishing what they started yesterday. He will tease him about it later.

Right now all Greg cares about is getting Mycroft’s shirt off so he can get his hands on him.

God, he always feels like a teenager around Mycroft.

Unlike what he imagines of his teenage self, though, Greg doesn’t rip Mycroft’s shirt from his back. He mirrors Mycroft’s earlier move and slides his hands up Mycroft’s chest and edges his hands under the fabric to slip it from his shoulders. It drops to the floor and neither of them give it another thought.

Greg rakes his nails down Mycroft’s back before soothing back over the lines with the flat of his palm and ends with his fingers tucked just inside the waistband of his trousers. This time Mycroft shivers. Greg urges him closer to rock against him and teases the skin at his collar bone with his teeth. He soothes the bite immediately with a swipe of his tongue. He can feel Mycroft’s hastening pulse as the man’s hands grip at his hips again.

Greg squeezes and then brings his hands round to unhook the front of Mycroft’s trousers, suddenly unwilling to wait any longer. Mycroft mirrors him without getting in his way and expertly undoes the button and zip on his jeans. However, before Greg can do what he desperately wants and can reach into Mycroft’s underwear for him, Mycroft grabs his wrists to stop him. He places Greg’s hands back where they were inside his waistband at the back. The open trousers allows Greg to push his hands further down until he’s pulling Mycroft closer by squeezing his arse instead.

Mycroft complies with the need for closeness by grabbing himself and freeing Greg’s cock from his jeans, too. Mycroft tuts an amused “naughty boy” at the fact he’s caught Gregory going commando but Greg catches him hesitating.

Taking one hand back and reaching for the top drawer of the desk just by his thigh, Greg pulls out a bottle of lube. “I just organised it.” Greg explains with a shrug at Mycroft’s delightfully confused expression. Mycroft huffs a laugh and takes it from him. Greg obediently places his hand back where he can cup as much of a feel as he wants.

“You knew.” Mycroft says. Of course Greg would realise that he may not have started what happened yesterday but he most certainly wasn’t finished either.

“I knew.” Greg replies.

Mycroft wastes no more time in coating one hand generously in lube before grasping both of their cocks together. He inhales sharply at the first contact, as does Greg. Greg’s eyes close of their own accord and just lets himself feel. Mycroft can’t help but lean over him so Greg is bent backwards and held up only by his hold on Mycroft’s arse. He would laugh if it didn’t feel so strangely erotic. 

He uses his free hand to brush his fingers over Greg’s cheek, pushing hair behind his ear, and then cupping his face to bring him close enough to kiss. As soon as their lips touch he begins to move his other hand between them.

They moan together and they catch it in another kiss. Another. Another.

Their heart beats sync. They breathe each other. They connect at every possible point.

They become lost.

Soon, too soon, they are calling out each other’s names simultaneously as the pleasure builds to its peak and they come together.

Greg breathes harshly into Mycroft’s neck, his lips just resting against the skin there while he waits to find the energy to press them into a proper kiss again. He is aware that he is stroking Mycroft’s sides with just his fingertips but he doesn’t stop because Mycroft is doing the same on his back where he’s holding Greg up.

He can feel Mycroft laughing and huffs his own laugh in question.

Mycroft hums low a minute before he answers. “I don’t think your open door policy will work again for a while.”

Greg has to think for a moment before he realises what Mycroft is referring to. Mycroft gets another slap though it is lazy and hardly hits. “It took me ages to get them to stop loitering outside and even longer before they stopped knocking and waiting for me to invite them in like they’re bloody vampires. Especially when the door is open.” He groans and presses his teeth to Mycroft’s skin without actually doing anything. “You ruined it.”

“Oh did I?” Mycroft’s voice is full of amusement.

Greg grunts. He knows he started it. “Yes.” He lies.

“I think I ruined something else.” Mycroft jokes and Greg can’t help but join the laughter.

“Yeah.” Greg admits. “You ruined me a long time ago.” He finally lifts his head to look at Mycroft. Their eyes both shine with the same emotions. The honesty of Gregory’s love sometimes chokes Mycroft.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I KNOW I WROTE SMUT FOR THE FIRST TIME AND THEN GOT AWKWARD AND I MADE IT SO SWEET YOU COULD BE SICK AGAIN IT'S MY THING GET USED TO IT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AND THEY WILL SAY IT


	15. 15th Jan - Strawberry Ice Cream Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back in safe territory, people! This is totally SFW, Universal, General Audience approved. Just heavy flirting. We cool.

Greg and Mycroft learned quickly that if they wanted to participate in date nights every so often then they would have to seize the moments when they arose.

That is how Mycroft finds himself sitting opposite Greg in an Italian restaurant watching the other man with fake irritation. An absolutely lovely evening of food, wine, and conversation was coming to a natural conclusion and Mycroft had been looking forward to asking for the bill and taking Gregory home. Now Greg sits with a dessert that Mycroft insisted they didn’t need or want and he’s glaring at Greg’s playful grin.

Greg sweeps a spoon slowly across the top of a scoop of perfectly pink ice cream and it curls lightly like a perfect advert. He doesn’t smile but his eyes become mischievous as he stares into Mycroft’s. He lifts the spoon and wraps his lips around it slowly.

Devil.

Mycroft’s lips fall open slightly without his knowledge and he looks like he wants a taste, too. Perhaps not the ice cream, though.

“Gregory.” His voice rumbles low in his throat and he clears it to try again. “That is quite unfair.”

Greg furrows his brows in mock confusion. “What? You can have some if you want.” Even as he speaks he’s repeating the motion, picking up more ice cream in a more sensual way than Mycroft has ever thought possible.

“I don’t want any ice cream.” Mycroft chokes as Greg licks the spoon clean.

He repeats the motion one more time. “But it’s so delicious, Myc.”

Mycroft’s fist clenches in the napkin he left to the side of his drink. He can see Greg watching his throat as he swallows his arousal.

“You are incorrigible.”

Greg only grins and holds the spoon out in front of Mycroft’s mouth. “It’s just dessert.” He offers innocently.

Mycroft disagrees vehemently.

He takes Greg’s wrist in hand and holds it still so he can play Greg at his own game and win. He makes sure to feign disinterest as he edges forward but the moment he decides to slide his tongue under the spoon first before using it to pull the spoon and close his mouth around the ice cream he knows he has Greg’s attention. He drags his lips away even slower and licks them clean before deliberately catches Greg’s gaze.

“Are you sure that’s the dessert you want?”


	16. 16th Jan - Nothing Day

Mycroft’s alarm sounded over ten minutes ago and he is still in bed. He is trapped by arms and legs and the warm body they are attached to. He attempts to escape once more.

“No.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft sighs as Greg holds on tighter and pushes his face into Mycroft’s neck.

“No.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes but he is smiling. He is safe to do so since Greg can’t see him. “Gregory, I need to get ready for work.” He doesn’t want to. He is much more comfortable here in Greg’s arms. Though he will be in for a right talking to if he is late. Again.

“No.”

He lives with the devil.

“If you don’t let go I won’t have time to shower.”

He thinks Greg is going to ignore him so he pokes the man in the side which just results in another parroted, “No.”

“I know you know more words than that.” He teases. He isn’t really trying very hard to get away and he knows Greg has noticed.

Greg bites a little at his neck. “No.”

“You’re being childish.”

“You’re being childish.” It is said with a grin.

Mycroft is grinning, too. “Ah, you do have a wider vocabulary.”

“No.”

Mycroft checks his alarm clock again for the time. He sighs for real this time. He won’t be getting a shower if he doesn’t want a bollocking from the Prime Minister. “Gregory.”

Greg notices the change in tone and acquiesces. He lifts his head slightly so he can see Mycroft’s face.

“You don’t need to go to work today.”

Mycroft kisses his forehead in apology. “I’m afraid that is not the case.”

“You don’t.” Greg cuts in with more confidence. “I sorted it.”

Greg’s fingers tap against Mycroft’s chest and he catches them to still them and stop the distraction. “You can’t have sorted it. There is nothing to sort. I am going to work.”

It’s Greg’s turn to sigh. He takes a breath to make a confession. “Anthea owed me a favour.”

That startles Mycroft. His fingers tighten around Greg’s “Anthea owed you a favour?” 

“Yes.”

“My personal assistant owed you a favour?”

“Yes.” 

“How?”

Greg huffs a laugh. “Never you mind.”

“Anthea helped you get me a day off work?”

“Yes. Now settle down. You’re not being a good pillow.”

Greg rests his head back against Mycroft’s shoulder and lets Mycroft idly play with their hands.

“Right.”

“Right.”

A moment. 

“Right.”

Greg laughs again. “Have I broken you?”

“No.” Mycroft allows himself a smile at his next thought. “I simply didn’t think it possible.”

“Think what possible?” Greg lifts his head to watch Mycroft’s face, he’s sure he’s missing something.

Mycroft’s smile beams. “To love you more.”

Greg gasps and slaps a Mycroft a little pathetically since Mycroft is still holding his hand. “Sap!”

“Maybe.”

They lean into each other to press their lips together. They’re both smiling.

“Wait. You love me because I got you time off work?” Greg’s tone is back to teasing. Mycroft uses the question to tease right back with the truth.

“No. I love you because you manipulated my personal assistant into manipulating my staff and superiors just so you could cuddle.”

“I didn’t!” Greg protests loudly although his leg thrown back over Mycroft’s tell another story.

“I rather think you did.” Mycroft replies in an almost sing song.

Greg still tries to deny it, of course. “Today isn’t cuddle day, we already had that.”

Mycroft nods. “I know. Today is nothing day and you are determined to use that as an excuse to cuddle anyway.”

Greg baulks for a moment before huffing and giving in. He uses his whole body to hold Mycroft tighter. “Shut up and cuddle me.”

“Yes, my love.”

He slides the arm that was trapped beneath Greg around Greg’s middle and holds him just as tight as he presses light kisses into Greg’s hair.


	17. 17th Jan - Ditch New Year's Resolutions Day

“Don’t panic.”

“Okay.”

“No, really. Don’t panic.”

“I shall do my utmost.”

“Nothing bad happened.”

“Okay.”

“So you shouldn’t panic.”

“My dear, I am not the one panicking.”

Mycroft presses his phone a little closer to his ear and listens as Greg takes a long, deep breath.

“I have to look after Nathan and Sam for a few days.”

“And by that you mean  _ we  _ have to look after Nathan and Sam for a few days.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re worried I would object?”

“No?”

A rustling over the line gives Mycroft the impression that Greg is shrugging. It’s a nervous thing he does when he thinks that he has offended Mycroft. It is admittedly somewhat endearing.

“Gregory. They are your nephews. Whatever has happened, I am sure that you have exhausted all other options before you came to me with this, which by the way you needn’t have bothered.”

“I know. I just… they’re my problem, not yours, and you don’t exactly want two kids running around your gaff when you get home from a long day, do you? Not exactly relaxing. You shouldn’t have to worry or be put out just because my sister is having a bit of a wobble right now. You know what, I’ll take them to my place. There’s not much stuff there but I’m not completely moved out. It’s still a functioning flat with some beds and-”

“Gregory.” Mycroft cuts him off mid sentence. There is no need to allow Greg to continue and wind himself up any further when Mycroft is perfectly happy to accomodate Greg and his nephews’ needs. “Breathe. You will bring them home - to our home - and we will care for them until their mother is well again.”

Greg audibly breathes again. There is a rush down the receiver as he laughs at his own idiocy in an almost self deprecating way that mycroft tuts at. They’ve spoken about it before so he doesn’t need to say anything further.

Greg hums as he calms. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. Your family is my family.”

It is perhaps the sweetest thing Mycroft has ever said. 

Then he continues as if he hasn’t just made a grand statement. “No need for cigarettes.”

He doesn’t mean to say the deduction out loud.

“Shit.” Greg groans, giving himself away without a denial. He has already given in to temptation.

“We’re not even out of January yet.” Mycroft says, understanding.

“I know. I’m sorry. Just… siblings, eh?”

“Quite.” Mycroft allows the smile to brighten his response so that Greg knows he isn’t angry. He couldn’t be anyway, Greg has yet to notice that “I too may have… had a sibling issue.”

Greg snorts.

“When were you going to tell me? Were you waiting for me to fuck up as well so I couldn’t be even a little bit mad?”

A beat. “Perhaps.”

“Idiot.”

Mycroft makes a noise that pretends to be offended, and then gives up. “That too, but an idiot that has made very clever plans, nonetheless.” He jots down some notes and lets Greg think a second on what he could mean. “Nathan is four, yes? And Sam seven?”

“Yeah, they’re not broody teens just yet, so we have that going for us.” Greg jokes although he’s nervous about why Mycroft would want to check their ages. “I just don’t know that I could entertain little ones for long enough that they won’t break anything in your house.”

“Our house.” Mycroft is quick to correct, and then continues to explain himself. “Have you taken notice of what day it is tomorrow?”

“No, don’t even know what today is. Distracted, you know?”

Mycroft makes a noise of amusement but doesn’t enlighten Greg on that particular irony. “Tomorrow could be Winnie the Pooh day if they’re still interested in that sort of thing.”

Greg pauses. Mycroft doesn’t know how much it means to him that he so effortlessly fits Greg and everything and everyone that comes with him into his life. “I’m sure Sam will try to deny it but they both absolutely loved it when I took them to watch Christopher Robin.”

“Perfect.” Mycroft nods to himself. “Then allow me to worry about the entertainment tomorrow. You can keep them busy in the cinema room tonight if you all wish. I just ask that you lock my personal study, please.”

“Of course! Yeah, definitely. I’ll do that, don’t worry.” Greg beams. “Thank you, love.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Okay. See you tonight?”

“It may be after the boys’ bed time, but yes, a no more unreasonable time than normal.”

There is a scuffling and distant shouting.

“Great. Perfect. I have to go. Thank you. Love you.”

“And I you.” Mycroft just has time to say and then Greg is gone quickly. The boys must have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of cheating because I'm using it to set up the next day. However, I am kind of proud of how I weaved it to fit the 17th. They're both sneaky devils and stress smoke.


	18. 18th Jan - Winnie the Pooh Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes everyone to Ashdown Forest for the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so long to write because I had no idea what to write when I had the time. Now I feel it's really rambling to make up for it so it's not my favourite but I need to get it out before it kills me.  
> Some of it was also written while I was drunk but it's going out as is because I'm sick of looking at it...

“Where are we going, Uncle Greg?”

Greg finishes fastening the zip on Nathan’s coat. “I don’t know, kiddo. This is Mycroft’s idea and he’s being very secretive.” At Nathan’s sceptical face, Greg smiles and points a thumb behind him to where Mycroft is definitely listening. “That usually means it’s going to be the best day.”

Nathan nods and shrugs, accepting the explanation. “Cool.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but puts his own coat on.

Greg claps his hands together and stands. “Right, then.” He turns to the side and waves a hand between himself and the kids from Mycroft to the door. “Lead the way, kind sir.”

Mycroft smiles and shakes his head at the ridiculous man as the boys groan and Sam slaps a palm to his head. Though never let it be said that Mycroft isn’t also a ridiculous man.

“Fear not children, for I have a getaway car!”

Mycroft walks them outside as instructed and opens the back door to one of his many cars. He gestures for them to climb in, introducing them to James the driver who smiles their hellos and then remains politely quiet for their journey.

“Are you rich?” Comes the first break in the silence. Mycroft doesn’t seem phased and Greg has expected it since he maneuvered around that question earlier. Still, Greg tells Sam that it’s rude and reminds himself never to allow them to be alone with Sherlock.

“It’s no bother, Gregory. Curiosity is a good quality.” Mycroft allows. He turns to Sam to address him directly. “In very simple terms, yes I am. Why do you ask, Samuel?”

“It’s just Sam.”

“My apologies, Sam. Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugs and looks away a moment as if searching for the right answer that the adult might want. “Because you have a nice house with a cool cinema room and cool suits and people drive you around in fancy cars so I think you’re rich but my mum said that rich people are lazy gits who never earned anything and hate everything but their money.”

Both Mycroft and Greg certainly didn’t expect that answer. Greg nearly chokes on his own saliva in embarrassment. Clearly his sister had been having a bad go of it with someone apparently rich and it hurts him that she would say something like that without exception. She knew her kids took everything to be literal at the moment. She also knew Mycroft.

Mycroft, however, seems amused. “And what do you think, Sam?”

Sam takes a long moment that has Greg holding his breath.

Sam Shrugs again. “You don’t hate Uncle Greg.”

Sam looks out of the window, conversation apparently over. Greg lets out his breath. Mycroft practically beams (Greg sees his mouth twitch a little). Greg grins now too. Clever boy, that one.

===

“We’re just around the corner from our first destination.” Mycroft informs them as they walk down a sun lit street. To the children it seems a little old world with it’s painted stone one story buildings and they seem to be in the countryside.

“Is it a farm?” Asks Nathan and Sam scoffs although he waits for an answer, too.

Mycroft smiles down at them and shakes his head. “No farms today. I’m not sure my suit could handle it.”

Sam looks disappointed that he doesn’t have an answer. Nathan looks like he’s trying harder to think of another answer. Greg snorts a laugh at Mycroft.

“Are you sure you won’t need to take off at least your jacket today?”

“Fool, I have survived rougher terrain and higher temperatures with my dignity perfectly intact.”

Greg just hums and pretends he thinks that’s true.

“IT’S WINNIE THE POOH!”

They all turn to the screeching child who is growing a wild grin while staring up at the window of a shop… Oh. They quicken their pace to follow Nathan who is already marching inside.

===

“But… But…”

“What’s that, Sam?” Greg asks from behind a shelf of cuddly Piglets. “Do you want to pick one? I think your brother is getting Roo.”

“No!” Sam shouts and then thinks better as he notices other people are watching him. “Winnie the Pooh is for babies.” He says under his breath this time. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets and hunches in on himself.

Greg frowns. This isn’t like Sam. “I like Winnie the Pooh and I’m pretty sure I’m not a baby.”

Sam shrugs. He doesn’t have an answer to that.

“Do you want a Tigger?” Greg tries once more. “I’m going to get Mycroft his own Winnie the Pooh.” He waves it in front of him.

Sam shakes his head and waits by the door, watching the others but trying not to look like he’s watching.

“Alright, then, gang!” Greg calls when they exit the shop. He turns to Mycroft. “I assume this day leads us to a certain hundred acre wood?” He asks innocently and watches as Nathan beams again in his peripheral. 

Mycroft winks. “Perhaps a picnic with Christopher Robin’s friends?”

“Yes, please!” Nathan shouts and does a little jig on the spot. “This is going to be so cool!”

Mycroft watches Sam frown and shake his head at his brother.

“Come on, then. Lead the way, Mycroft.” Greg smiles and bows with a wave in the right direction.

Mycroft takes the lead and the others follow, Sam trailing at the back.

===

“Look!” Nathan shouts and points up into the trees. His grin hasn’t left. “It’s Owl’s house!”

Greg squints up into the sun to see what Nathan can see. He grins himself. “That’s right, Nath!” He moves closer to see if he can see any details. “Can you read what it says up there?”

“No.” Nathan pouts. Then he reconsiders. “Maybe he left a message for the others.”

Mycroft steps forward with them and bends a little as if conspiring. “It’s the sign on Owl’s door. Do you remember what it said in the books?”

Nathan shakes his head and Greg shrugs.

“It says 'please knock if an answer is required'. However, the spelling is a little incorrect. I do believe our dear Owl had a little trouble reading and needed Christopher Robin’s help in writing the signs outside his house.”

Nathan smiled wide at the new knowledge. “Cool.” He nodded, accepting the fact and continuing to stare up at the door on the tree. Greg notices Sam looking similarly impressed behind Mycroft before he’s caught and it turns into a scowl again.

Greg has a great idea and congratulates himself with a mental pat on the back.

“Oh look!” He shouts excitedly which immediately gets everyone’s attention. “I think I see Eeyore’s house!” He runs ahead and the boys follow behind, Sam at a forced sedate pace.

They make their way down the long path in much the same fashion until they come to Pooh Bridge.

Nathan gasps as soon as he sees what’s ahead and makes a run for it. Then he quickly realises he needs a stick with another quick dash back and forth. “Pooh sticks!” He shouts as he drops it into the water.

Sam hangs back where Greg and Mycroft have stopped to watch. He clutches his hands in front of himself and tries really hard not to look like he wants to play, too.

Greg takes a look at Sam and then bends down to pick his own sticks from the side of the path. “Wait a sec, Nath. You need to teach me how to play.” He strides over and throws a stick over the wrong side of the bridge. Nathan can be heard telling him off lightly and Mycroft watches as the boy takes Greg’s hand to lead him away and show him how to play properly.

“Do you not want to play, Sam?” Mycroft asks quietly.

Sam scoffs. “No.”

“Okay.” Mycroft nods his acceptance. “I think I’ll join in, though, if it’s all the same. Looks like fun.” He looks around for sticks that look like they will make playing the game a little more fun. Of course by that he means he thinks they will win. “Ah.” He points just off the path behind some mud where some recently fallen smaller branches are lay. “Do you think you might help me, please, Sam?” He points down to his shoes. “I rather do think I have the wrong footwear.”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t want to play.”

“The sticks are for me, dear boy.” Mycroft assures. “I don’t very much like losing and they look like very good Pooh sticks, don’t you agree?”

“Okay, but I’m definitely getting them for you. I don’t want any.”

Ah, the logic of a child. Of course you mean every word of that, Sam. “Of course.” Mycroft nods seriously despite his amusement.

Mycroft doesn’t acknowledge that he’s seen Sam pocket some of the sticks when he hands a few to Mycroft. He simply thanks the boy and joins the others on the bridge which Nathan seems to explode with excitement over.

Sam stays behind, scuffing his feet against the ground while watching the scant few people come and go by for a while. His eyes keep straying back to Nathan, Greg, and Mycroft who laugh and offer stories of Winnie the Pooh (Mycroft recites happy and wholesome passages from memory) between rounds of Pooh sticks so that they aren’t hogging the bridge when others come through.

A genuine laugh from Mycroft takes his notice so he decides to amble over and see what he’s missing. The other three are all back to leaning over the side of the bridge ready to drop their sticks again so Sam shrugs to himself and pulls a thin stick from his pocket and sneakily drops his stick at the same time as they do.

He tries to look like he’s just following them when they run to the other side to watch. He thinks he fails when his stick comes out first and the others look confused until he hastily says, “Mycroft won.”

While Greg groans in mock annoyance and Nathan congratulates him, Mycroft turns to smile at Sam. He hands Sam another stick with a wink and a finger against his lips.

Sam smiles and this time he leads them all to the other side of the bridge.

“Are you playing with us, Sam?” Nathan asks with puppy eyes.

Sam shrugs, playing it off. “I’ll beat you if I do.”

“Will not!”

“Will too!”

He purposefully drops his stick a moment later than his brother and smiles through a put upon pout while Nathan whoops his joy at winning.

When Nathan calms down and gets distracted again Sam bites his lip and looks very undecided until he catches Mycroft’s encouraging nod and smile.

“Nath! Hey, look!” Sam shouts as he comes up behind his brother at the end of the bridge. He points ahead of them when Nathan can see him. “Is that a sign for Pooh’s house?”

There’s a gasp and then Nathan and Sam are walking off together with equally big grins.

Greg may well have his own grin as he leans against Mycroft, wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s waist as they watch the boys’ excitement.

“Thank you.” Greg squeezes Mycroft’s side and kisses the side of his neck.

“Whatever for?” Mycroft asks with an innocent smile that definitely doesn’t fool Greg.

He gets a light slap for his efforts. “I don’t even think Sam knows why he was acting like that today so it’s a miracle you were able to get him back to his usual self. So, on his behalf, thank you.”

Mycroft sighs and brings his arm round to give Greg’s side an understanding pat. “He misses his mother. He doesn’t know why he’s here. Plus, he’s trying to make a good impression in front of me and therefore you. He doesn’t want me to treat him like a baby.” He leans down slightly to press a kiss behind Greg’s ear. “He’ll be fine once he sees he’s nothing to worry about.”

Greg nods and squeezes one last time before suggesting they run after the boys.

===

They’re back in the car and are about to make their way home. Greg is listening to Nathan explain all the things that he found were cool about their day out. He tells them with Roo on his knee as if he’s listening, too.

Sam sits next to Mycroft and tugs on Mycroft’s sleeve to get his attention. He looks at the sleeve rather than Mycroft’s face as he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

Mycroft sighs and softens his features when he turns his attention to him. “Did you enjoy our day?”

Sam nods hesitantly.

“And did you eventually have some fun?”

Another nod.

Mycroft smiles. “Then that is all that matters.”

Sam allows a small smile too, then.

“But perhaps you would do well to make nice with your uncle.”

“Okay.” Sam nods again.

He doesn’t interrupt his brother’s retelling of the day, though. He just sits back and watches Nathan play with his new teddy. Greg catches his watching but waits until Nathan is finished before addressing him.

“Hey, Sammy. We can go get you a Tigger if you want.” He points out of the window to show that they haven’t left yet. “It’s not too late.”

Sam is already shaking his head no.

“I don’t deserve one. It’s okay.”

Everyone’s face falls at that but it’s Nathan who acts first. The boy holds out his own teddy to Sam. “Here, you can have Roo if you want.”

Sam is pushing Roo back to Nathan but before any true arguments can start in the name of selflessness, Mycroft interrupts.

“There won’t be any need for that, Nathan. You keep Roo.” He waves at his driver to begin their journey home but turns to Sam. “Sam. Why don’t you press that panel by your uncle’s hip?” He points to the door below the handle.

Sam pushes the door and gasps when it clicks and slides open. “Is that…?” He reaches for it but stops himself and stares up at Mycroft.

Mycroft nods. “I rather thought you would want him after all.”

Greg reaches to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder in thanks while Sam grabs the Tigger plush from the hidden compartment and hugs it to his chest.

“Thanks, Mycroft. I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting paid to sit at home and write stuff for you so I expect you'll be seeing at least a little more of me if I don't accidentally distract mys- SQUIRREL!


	19. 19th Jan - Popcorn Day

Nathan jumps and lands on Greg who lets out a grunt and lifts the boy off his middle. The boy lands next to him on the sofa and Greg ruffles his hair. “What d’you want, squirt?”

“Can we watch Spider-Man please?” Nathan asks with a put upon pout.

Greg shrugs, unmoved by the old tatic. “It’s not my telly, mate.”

Nathan huffs and scrambles over Greg to sit on his other side. Greg makes some cut off noises before they become some very choice words as an elbow stabs him again. 

“Mycroft, please can we watch Spider-Man?” Nathan asks the other man who he is now sat beside. Greg notices how Mycroft doesn’t have to deal with skinny elbow torture before the question is asked of him. Mycroft’s eyes grin secretively at Greg’s childishly pulled tongue.

He looks at Nathan over his nose but it’s more parental than condescending. “Do your brother and uncle want to watch Spider-Man?”

“Yeah!”

“Have you asked them?”

Nathan turns to where Sam is reading quietly on the rug in front of the sofa. “Sam, do you want to watch Spider-Man?”

He doesn’t look up from his book. “Which one?”

“The new one.”

“Sure.”

Greg butts in, then. “I haven’t seen the new one. Is it good?”

“It’s the best!” Nathan throws his arms in the air with his declaration. Sam rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Nathan turns his puppy eyes back on Mycroft. “Can we? Can we? Can we?”

Mycroft smiles. “Of course. I’ll get the popcorn, you can switch it on for us, hm?”

“Awesome!”

===

The credits roll on the Avengers. 

Obviously, after Spider-Man both boys had arguments as to why they should watch even more Marvel films and so the four of them had ended up having a day on the sofa in the cinema room.

“They left the popcorn.” Greg says quietly as to not wake the now sleeping boys.

“More for us, then.” Mycroft shrugs with a grin as he throws a piece in Greg’s direction.

Greg snickers and throws one back.

“One more film?”

“I don’t see why not.”


	20. 20th Jan - Penguin Awareness Day

“It’s Monday. They have school, for Christ’s sake.” Greg fumes as he paces. He shoves his hands through his hair. “It’s not like I can get them to Bletchley now is it?”

“Gregory. Calm down.” Mycroft tries to interrupt. Greg continues to pace and make angry noises. Mycroft checks that the boys are still in the living room before stepping into Greg’s path. “Calm.”

Greg sighs loudly and lifts his hands signalling the start of a new rant. Mycroft grabs both of his wrists and lowers them gently with a final step into Greg’s space.

“I am certain that one day off school will not be a bother for the boys or their school.” He assures. When Greg doesn’t look convinced he bends a little into Greg’s sight with a smile and raised eyebrow. “Truly, you have no need to worry about Sam and Nathan. They are content where they are.”

“How is it going to be just one day, though? I haven’t even heard from her. I’m starting to worry about what’s actually wrong.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “There’s no point in stressing over what we cannot change.”

Greg finally sags, listening to Mycroft’s calm tone.

“True.”

Mycroft nods. “So we find what we can change. Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course I have.”

“Of course. So you try again, no hear me out, you try again and if she doesn’t answer, do you know where she might be?”

“No?”

Mycroft slips his hands down so he’s holding Greg’s. “You don’t sound so certain.”

“I have a few ideas.” He admits but still doesn’t sound sure. “She didn’t actually tell me the specifics.”

Mycroft nods in understanding. “Then you only have to say the word and I can have someone search for you.”

“No, no.” Greg refuses immediately. “I can look for my own sister. It’s fine.”

“Then you shall. The offer stands if you need it later.”

Greg smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“I can take them out somewhere while you search. Keep them occupied.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I don’t.” Mycroft agreed and he caught and kept Greg’s gaze until he understood.

Greg sighed and relaxed again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, get going before you spontaneously combust. I can look after the boys.” Mycroft kisses him, a quick peck, and then goes to check on the boys, only turning to remind him of his promise. “And remember you only have to say the word.”

He leaves Greg to his call which Mycroft knows will go unanswered.

Sam, while he has been here, has made the floor in front of screens his home and sticking to his usual that is where he is watching the telly from when Mycroft walks into the living room. Nathan is lying on his back on the sofa with his legs up against the back watching the TV upside down. Both of them are grinning at the screen.

Mycroft looks properly at the program they are watching and joins them in grinning.

===

“There were _penguins,_ Uncle Greg!” Sam shouts as he collides with his uncle’s middle.

“Penguins!” Nathan confirms even louder but he saves Greg the rugby tackle.

“Just like the ones David Attenborough shows us on the telly!”

Greg looks at Mycroft who stands behind both boys. He throws Mycroft one of his own looks with a smile and an eyebrow raise. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was awesome!”

Mycroft shrugs. “I may have stolen some inspiration from their program of choice.”

While the young brothers chatter excitedly between them, the adults have a silent conversation. Mycroft drags his eyes from him to the boys and back and then tilts his head in question. Greg hesitates and then nods with a smile. Mycroft’s face softens. He inclines his head.

“Why don’t you tell your uncle about the emperors?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write the actual penguins when Greg can go too. I'm not a complete monster.


	21. 21st Jan - National Hug Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUGS ALL AROUND

“I’m sorry.”

“Not even a phone call, Martine!”

“I am sorry, Greg.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again, ‘kay? The kids missed you and I was worried sick.”

She nods emphatically. “I promise.”

“That’s alright then.” He says with a smile and wraps his arms around her shoulders when it looks like she’s going to cry. “None of that, now, Martini.”

He gets a light slap to the chest for his troubles. “You know I hate that nickname.” She pulls back to give him a pointed look. “Gregory.”

Greg winces. Then he catches Mycroft’s eye over Martine’s shoulder and smiles unconsciously.

“You know, I don’t think that bothers me so much anymore.”

He gets another slap to the chest. “Big brother finally got it!”

“Shut up!” Greg swats at her but she’s already retreating.

She snorts. “Not on your life, Gregory.”

Greg winces again. “Yeah, no, it’s just him. Definitely just him. You don’t get to say it.”

“Then I’m not your Martini Glass anymore.”

“Deal.” He agrees quickly. They offer each other friendly smiles and then Martine tells her boys to say goodbye.

“I’ll be waiting in the car.” Martine goes, waving at Mycroft a little sheepishly with one slightly raised hand as she passes. Mycroft accepts it silently as an apology with a soft smile.

Sam stands in front of Greg undecided until Greg ducks to pull him into a quick hug. A kiss to his crown has him squirming away and Greg laughing. Mycroft holds his hand out for Sam to shake. He does and then he’s saying goodbye and joining his mother in the car.

Nathan is next, waiting patiently in his queue of two. As Sam moves on to Mycroft, Nathan steps forward with his arms out ready for Greg. Greg grins and ducks down again only to lift Nathan in his arms. Nathan squeals in delight and Greg laughs heartily. “Put me down, Uncle Greg! Put me down!”

They’re both still laughing when Nathan has his feet back on the ground. “See you ‘round, squirt.” He waves as Nathan steps over to Mycroft as well.

Nathan tugs at Mycroft’s sleeve so Mycroft bends to his level expecting Nathan to say goodbye to him as Sam had. What he doesn’t expect is Nathan’s arms reaching up to wrap around his shoulders (more like clutches at his shoulders where Mycroft is still taller than him) and a whispered, “Bye, Uncle Mycroft.” Then Nathan is jumping into the car with his brother and Martine is driving them away.

Greg watches Mycroft a moment where he is stuck crouching in the street and looking shocked. He soon takes pity on the man and offers him a hand up. As soon as Mycroft accepts the hand he is pulled straight into a hug that he melts into. He squeezes Greg tight.

“Come on, Uncle Mycroft.” Greg laughs and they walk back inside, arms still wrapped around each other.


	22. 22nd Jan - Hot Sauce Day

“Are you quite sure you want to put so much sauce on your meal, Gregory?” Mycroft asks with concern.

Greg doesn’t take much heed of his tone. “Nah, be fine.” He says absently and continues to shake hot sauce over the contents of his plate. “I love a bit of flavour.”

“But that’s…” Mycroft starts. He doesn’t finish his sentence, out of character, because Greg has already grabbed a hot sauce covered chip and is chewing. Chewing. Chewing.

Swallowing.

Eyes widening. Watering.

Mouth opening. Gasping.

“Shit!” Greg shouts.

“Quite.” Mycroft agrees. He stands and moves about the kitchen to pour a glass of milk as Greg grabs his water already on the table.

“I have quite the tolerance for spice.” Mycroft explains a little sheepishly when he returns and hands over the glass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to warn you after I used it.”

Greg gulps at the offered milk and nearly spits it out as he laughs incredulously. “You? Not think?”

Mycroft winces. “Apologies.”

“No. No.” Greg waves it off. He didn’t mean to accuse or speak harshly. His tongue was just on fire. “Not your fault. Shouldn’t have dived in like that without asking.”

Mycroft watches Greg attempt to calm his burning mouth silently without anything else he can do to help. He would offer Greg his own food in replacement but he used the hot sauce first. Instead he offers to order take away which Greg accepts with a thankful nod.

That done, he still feels like this is his fault and he needs to explain further. Or just to fill the silence now that fills him with guilt.

“Over many years, I have had multiple meetings over dinner with plenty of world leaders who have very spicy national dishes. Or just a preference for hot dishes.” Mycroft shrugs. “You either learn to love it or risk offending someone by refusing. I’m so used to it that I don’t take much notice of it any more and didn’t think to say anything.”

Greg listens patiently but is shaking his head by the end. “Not your fault.” He seems fine, or at least not feeling the need to fan at his own mouth now. “Anyway, you did warn me. I just wasn’t listening.”

Mycroft doesn’t agree but he also doesn’t disagree.

Greg sighs a little and grabs for Mycroft’s hand across the table. “If you insist on feeling guilty then you can make up for it later. Maybe recreate that thing with the whipped cream. It’ll certainly do wonders for my burning tongue if I can lick it off of you.” He wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously. It succeeds in making Mycroft smile and squeeze his hand in turn.

“Deal.”


	23. 23rd Jan - Handwriting Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft prefers notes to texting

There’s a post-it note on the pillow he hasn’t been sleeping on when he wakes. It’s a short but sweet ‘Hate to wake you when you look so beautiful’. Greg knows by now that it’s Mycroft’s sappy goodbye when he has to leave at daft o’clock for work. He smiles and tucks it away between the pages of a diary on his bedside table as he gets up to start the day.

Another post-it on the kettle tells Greg that a packed lunch has been made for him. It waits in the fridge while he flips the kettle on, padding back to his room to slip that in his diary too. He thinks a moment before slipping the diary into his jacket pocket.

The front door’s lock is obstructed by a note telling him to ‘Have a good day at work, darling.’ Greg shakes his head fondly with a smile. He slides that in the diary with the rest as he saunters to his car.

When Greg makes it to his office he notices a slip of stock card that is propped up against a mug in the middle of the workspace on his desk. The side facing him reads ‘The finest cup of coffee for the finest detective’. The reverse is blank but for an embossed letter M in the bottom right corner. It finds its way into the diary.

Lunch time brings a smile back to Greg’s face when he remembers his packed lunch. He hadn’t checked what Mycroft had left him before he left for work so the contents are a surprise. A sandwich, chicken and stuffing, is wrapped neatly in clingfilm and is surrounded by a small tub of hummus, baby carrots, a fun sized chocolate bar, and a little yoghurt pot. He laughs at the note tucked in a corner. It read ‘I thought a spot of childishness would lighten your adult filled day’. He slips the note into his pocket and smiles at the fact Mycroft has packed him a kid’s lunch.

Yet another note is on his desk when he returns in the late afternoon. He had been called out to a grizzly murder scene so covered by media that Sherlock showed up without invitation. He is glad to be rid of him now but he has no doubts that Sherlock will be back before the day is up demanding more. Again. The note simply says ‘Sherlock deterrent’ across the back of one of Greg’s favourite photos. It is a selfie Greg took one weekend by accident when Mycroft had taken him by surprise and pressed in to kiss his cheek and then leaned his forehead against Greg’s temple with a fond smile. Greg props it up against his long empty mug.

Returning home feels like shrugging the burden from his shoulders. His shoes are dropped by the door and his coat hangs on the stand. The kitchen beckons him as it usually does when Mycroft has somehow managed to leave something that smells good. Greg isn’t sure if Mycroft calls back himself between meetings or sends someone in his stead but Greg is immensely grateful for it. His journey reveals a bowl of pasta bolognese covered and left by the microwave. The dining table is set. The centrepiece is a folded card lay on its side so it stands tented. The outside reads ‘Home late. Eat without me.’ Greg picks it up to see that inside tells him ‘Dessert is in the fridge. Love you x’

===

Mycroft sighs and forces himself to relax as he closes the front door on the world for the day. The quiet house doesn’t disturb him, it just peaks his curiosity as he knows in all certainty that Greg is home. He makes his way to the kitchen to find that Greg has eaten half of the portion he left for him, leaving Mycroft the chance to choose a late meal, too. It makes him smile. The smile turns into a grin when he finds a bright pink post-it tucked under an empty bowl recently licked clean of ice cream.

_Your dessert is in the bedroom._


	24. 24th Jan - Belly Laugh Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries to get Mycroft to laugh. He has so many ideas. Mycroft throws them out of the window and takes over.

Greg sits in the armchair for a very long time (fifteen whole minutes) waiting for Mycroft to finish his breakfast and come join him in the living room. Mycroft still refuses to eat anywhere but the dining table in the kitchen. Despite Greg’s attempts to encourage a lap meal, this works in Greg’s favour today. It gives him time.

Mycroft eventually comes to join him. He smiles in greeting before catching Greg’s attempts to hide his mischievous grin. He raises an eyebrow at the man. Then he turns his suspicion on the room.

It only takes a moment and then he’s humming a realisation of the deception. He reaches beneath the cushions on the sofa and holds up his findings.

“I know what today is. You thought this would make me laugh?” Mycroft asks with an almost concerned note.

Greg looks from Mycroft to the whoopie cushion.

“Not really.” He allows. “Admittedly, that wasn’t my best idea. However, it was also only my first idea.” There’s a beat. Mycroft relaxes at the admission. 

He sits down on the sofa. It farts. Greg grins.

“That one was mostly just for me.”

Greg just laughs heartily at Mycroft’s indignant expression.

===

Mycroft is quick to look for anything that might be amiss after the whoopie cushion incident. It doesn’t put a dent in Greg’s plans. He has plenty more ideas that don’t include props. One idea in particular isn’t even a new idea and though it has yet to ever work, Greg can’t help but try it anyway. At least he’ll be laughing if Mycroft isn’t.

He flicks through the music channels on the TV. When he comes across Kerrang! he grins and turns it up to an annoying but not ear splitting level.

He waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Gregory, please turn down this awful racket.” Mycroft sighs as he pokes his head into the living room.

“It’s not awful. In fact, there’s no _sax_ or _violins_.”

Mycroft looks confused. “What? Saxophones and violins would be a welcome sound next to this nonsense.”

Greg sighs and rolls his eyes. “Only _accordion_ to you.”

“Right…” Mycroft nods but he doesn’t understand. He reaches for the remote. “I’ll just be turning this off now.”

“Is that a _fret_?”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yay! I was hoping this wouldn’t fall _flat_.”

Mycroft shakes his head forlornly. “This isn’t going to make me laugh, Gregory.”

“Get your _band_ off the remote! Don’t you believe in _jazztice_?”

Mycroft looks up to Greg and raises an eyebrow. “Those were truly terrible.”

Greg sighs and lets Mycroft take the remote and mute the TV while he flops back to the sofa. “Yeah, I agree those were definitely _off beat_.”

Mycroft pats Greg’s head and leaves the room.

Greg smirks to himself.

===

Greg slinks into the study where Mycroft is sitting on a small sofa leaning over a coffee table covered in paperwork. Mycroft’s eyes flicker up when he enters but otherwise he doesn’t acknowledge his presence.

Greg doesn’t take it personally. It actually means Mycroft is comfortable enough living with him and trusts him enough that he isn’t distracted. Or he knows what Greg is up to. Either way, Greg is going to enjoy this.

He plonks himself down beside Mycroft on the sofa and leans into him. He knows it isn’t confidential or truly pressing work since Mycroft is doing it at home and his study is unlocked. He won’t feel bad about interrupting this time. He lays his head on Mycroft’s shoulders and without looking away from the document he is currently proofreading, Mycroft presses a kiss to his head. It makes Greg smile.

He hooks an arm around Mycroft’s back and squeezes at his side. There is no visible reaction so he does it again. Mycroft hums but doesn’t move or tell him to stop.

Greg shifts his other arm around Mycroft’s front and squeezes his side with both hands.

“Gregory.” Is his quiet warning. It only makes him do it again.

Mycroft breathes through his nose and finally tips his head to look at him. “Gregory.” He says again pointedly.

“What?” Greg asks innocently but his hands squeeze again.

Mycroft huffs. “You know very well that I’m not ticklish.”

“Maybe not there.” His hands travel upwards slowly over his chest and back to come to rest under each of Mycroft’s arms. “But what about here?” A squeeze and twitch of his fingers brings him nothing but a patient glare and another raised eyebrow.

Greg puts on a pout and sighs. Then his pout morphs into a slow grin and his hands move back down Mycroft’s body. Mycroft knows exactly what that grin means. He sucks in a sharp breath but before Greg can reach where he wishes, Mycroft grips his wrists and flips them easily so Greg is lay across the sofa and Mycroft has him pinned.

“Now, now.” Mycroft tuts but Greg can see his amusement. “I do believe turnabout is fair play.” He keeps Greg’s wrists in one hand. His other hand trails lightly down the middle of Greg’s chest. Greg gasps and fidgets so Mycroft halts and tuts again. “Are you ticklish, Gregory?”

Greg shakes his head and bites his lips. Mycroft smirks.

He pokes at Greg’s side and Greg immediately cuts off a breath of laughter. Mycroft’s smirk becomes the smile of a shark. “Well, look at that.” He pokes again and Greg makes a whining noise behind his bitten lips.

“Mycroft! Mycroft, stop, please!” Greg grovels between giggles and gasps. Mycroft digs his fingers in once more before allowing Greg to catch his breath.

When Greg calms to a panting mess Mycroft is leaning over him with a playful grin on his face. He leans down slowly. His nose barely brushes down Greg’s and Greg breathes the anticipation. However, just a hair's breadth away from their lips touching Mycroft stops.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

===

Greg pushes Mycroft onto the bed and watches those hooded eyes watch him. It’s incredibly arousing so Greg doesn’t wait to pull his trousers off completely before he’s jumping after Mycroft to seal their lips together.

There is a lot of tugging at hair and pulling at each other’s clothes and Greg gets impatient quickly. Without letting go of Mycroft he leans down to push at his trousers around his thighs. He moans a frustrated sound into Mycroft’s mouth when they won’t go past his knees. He sucks on Mycroft’s bottom lip and nips a little, lingering as he pulls back because he really doesn’t want to. Trying to stay put and maneuver his trousers at the same time shifts him off balance and suddenly Mycroft isn’t beneath him any more.

A shocked scream cuts off as Greg topples backwards from the bed. There is a dull thud and a quiet “oof” as he hits the floor.

There is a beat of silence. Greg is frozen in a moment of embarrassment until a hand grabs his upper arms and pulls him upright back on the bed. “Gregory, are you alright?” Mycroft asks as he checks over the still tangled Greg to make sure he is unharmed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Good.” Greg answers, mortified. He looks down at himself where his trousers are bunch around his ankles and where his underwear is covering everything but what it should. “Shit. That wasn’t sexy at all.”

A startled laugh sounds above him and Greg’s head shoots up in reaction. Mycroft is biting his bottom lip which seems a struggle as his smile threatens to break. His eyes are bright with mirth and his shoulders twitch.

“Are you laughing at me?” Greg asks incredulously. He slaps Mycroft lightly on the chest. “I was trying to be sexy, Myc. Not funny.”

That is the final straw. Genuine laughter bubbles from Mycroft, building from his chest and getting louder until he is holding himself up on a trembling arm and wiping tears from his eyes. The laughter is contagious and Greg can’t help but join in. Every time they think they might stop, a look to the other has them in stitches all over again. Mycroft because his brain replays the look on Greg’s face as he fell and Greg because Mycroft laughing is the best thing he has ever heard.

When they can finally pull themselves together enough to breathe properly Greg kicks his trousers off and sits cross legged before Mycroft. Mycroft leans forward to run a hand over Greg’s cheek. His face is soft and fond.

“You didn’t have to try so hard to get me to laugh, darling.”

Greg baulks and begins to protest. “I didn’t mean-”

Mycroft shuts him up with a kiss, chuckling against his lips.


	25. 25th Jan - Opposite Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this prompt stumped me so much now that I've written it. I was totally overthinking it. I like the simple, domestic Mystrade. So tah dah!
> 
> Also thank you to Merinda who kicked me back into action :)

Mycroft yawns as he unbuttons his pyjama shirt and Greg watches from the bed with a fond smile. "I thought you were a morning person," Greg says with a laugh.

Mycroft shrugs in his struggling exhaustion and drops the shirt from his shoulders right onto the floor. He doesn't pick it up. He heads straight to the bathroom. Greg frowns at the crumpled shirt until Mycroft comes back from brushing his teeth.

"Are you okay?" Greg asks quietly.

"Fine." Mycroft replies just as quietly as he wipes a hand over his face. "Better after coffee."

"That's usually my line." Greg's joke falls flat in his concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

“I don’t have any meetings today. I’m wonderful.”

Greg crawls over the bed so he can kneel behind where Mycroft has sat himself on the edge for a moment again. Mycroft allows his head to tilt backwards until he can see Greg and he smirks. "Besides, it’s not exactly my fault I didn't get much sleep."

Greg huffs but can't help smiling back. "Alright, yeah, fine. Blame me, why don't you."

"I shall and I have, my dear."

\---

Mycroft knocks on the door to Greg's home office and sighs when he doesn't get an answer. He opens the door anyway.

"Gregory?"

"Workin'." Comes the distracted reply. It's muffled by the pen between Greg's lips. It is the deep frown lines around his eyes that has Mycroft stepping fully into the room against the wish of the tone of voice.

"Gregory, is everything alright?"

"Fine." Another short and distracted reply.

Mycroft nods though he is unconvinced. "Okay." He steps towards Greg again and traces the outline of Greg's tense form with worry. "Since when do you bring enough work home that it takes so much of your attention?" Greg shrugs so Mycroft continues. "I know we each have a home office for this reason - I use mine often enough - but you never bring your cases home. You once told me you couldn't do as I do."

Greg hums and grabs a marker to draw an arrow next to some notes on a file. He isn't listening. "It's not dinner time." Is all Greg can find to say in his preoccupation.

Mycroft huffs a laugh that isn't at all humorous and thinks about this morning. "That's usually my line."

He doesn't get any more conversation out of Greg so he takes on his role and prepares to bring dinner to him at his desk. Perhaps next time he won't ignore Greg's concerns about him overdoing it when he works from home.

\---

"Mycroft? Mycroft!" Greg shouts as he stomps into the living room.

"Yes, dear?" Mycroft calls back with nothing but innocence.

Greg storms over to him and waves a pair of boxers in his face. Mycroft leans back and away as one would when underwear is wielded in their direction. "I already have my underwear on, thank you, Gregory. It's a hard thing to forget."

"You!" Greg continues to fume. "Left your filthy undies on the bedroom floor!"

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. He isn't put off by Greg's anger. "Oops?"

"Oops? The great Mycroft bloody Holmes is called out for being a dumper of dirty knickers and all he has to say is oops?"

There is a beat where Mycroft isn't sure what the right answer is before he ventures with, "Yes. I must have forgotten to pick them up in my haste, or perhaps you distracted me. Again."

Greg waves the boxers once more before he seems to deflate and give up. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

"Is something the matter? You've never bothered to be this angry over your own scattered undergarments."

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'm fine. Don't know what got into me. You're right. Sorry." Greg runs a hand over his face and then smiles apologetically at Mycroft. "Do you have any more washing, love? I'll put a load on."

\---

Greg grunts at his laptop for the tenth time in as many minutes. It's getting late and his eyes are starting to hurt from the strain of staring at the screen for so long, but he pushes through his growing headache so he can get through his whole email inbox. If he gets through the whole thing tonight he won't have to even look at it tomorrow unless something flagged comes through.

"You're going to help no one in this state," Mycroft tells him softly. He's leaning over Greg's shoulder from where he's stood at the back of the sofa. "You are tired. The cases will still be there in the morning."

Mycroft is right. That's what Greg hates, though. The cases will always be there in the morning. He doesn't tell Mycroft that he isn't looking at those types of emails. If he wants, Mycroft can see that for himself. He's long since given up hiding his work from Mycroft considering the clearance he has is way higher than Greg's ever will be. Greg sighs his acknowledgement but continues to type out a reply to one of his officers requesting time off.

"I'll be finished soon. Don't wait up." He says instead.

He feels Mycroft's answering sigh against his neck. He refuses to let it distract him although he does shiver.

"Please don't make us both hypocrites. It is your job to pry me away from work, not this way around."

Greg grunts as he presses send on another email. Then he tilts his head back to see Mycroft properly, though upside down. "I'm not a hypocrite."

Mycroft smiles at Greg's indignation but all he has to do is raise that eyebrow for Greg to groan and admit that he is indeed being a hypocrite. "I only have two emails left to read."

"Then you'll have a very easy job in the morning," Mycroft reasons. Greg hates it when Mycroft reasons. He's always right.

Mycroft sees when he's won Greg over. He grins and presses a kiss to Greg's forehead before leaving the room. Greg watches him go and then spends at least a minute flitting his eyes between the empty doorway and his inbox. When his inbox chimes with another inane request from an officer and he catches the time flip to midnight in the corner of his screen, he closes the laptop without shutting it off and follows his partner to bed.

He'll deal with it in the morning.


	26. 26th Jan - Australia Day

"G'day, mate!" Greg shouts with glee as he jumps into the kitchen.

Mycroft is sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a growing sense of doom. 

"No. No, we're not doing that."

Greg ignores him in favour of flipping the kettle back on to boil. "Let's put another shrimp on the barbie!" He shouts again in a truly awful attempt at the accent.

"Stop. Stop it now. Stop it forever." Mycroft moans into his tea. Perhaps that's a migraine he can feel coming on. He can surely hide away in bed if he can feel a migraine coming on. Or, no, he is of perfect health. So perfect, in fact, that he absolutely must utilise it by going to work.

"Well, what else are we supposed to do for Australia day when we're not in Australia?" Greg laments.

Mycroft pretends to ponder over the possibilities for a moment. "Think of them fondly," he suggests with a straight face that doesn't match the sarcastic gleam in his eyes.

"Mycroft!" Greg whines and plonks himself into the chair next to him at the table. "No fun."

"Then we shall donate to an Australia Day charity of your choice."

"Yes, that. We'll do that, but that's also no fun."

Mycroft sighs. He isn't going to win this one. "What does the website say?"

Greg lights up again, grinning manically as he searches his pockets for his mobile. He tugs it free of a reluctant pocket and jabs his fingers against the screen in search of the Days of the Year website on his favourites list. Mycroft rolls his eyes when he sees that. He didn't even think Greg knew how to do that. "So?" He encourages after a few minutes of quiet.

"Read up on Australian history, eat Australian foods, drink wine." Greg lists off as he reads the description. He doesn't seem too keen on the options but it's Mycroft's turn to light up at the mention of wine. Greg notices and comments with a grimace, "Really? It's not even ten in the morning."

Mycroft scoffs but relents. He'll be getting drunk with or without Greg if he insisted on the talentless imitation. "Later, then."

"Later."

"And now?" He ventures carefully.

"We forget about Australian food," Greg counts off on his fingers. Mycroft is about to interject that that isn't at all something Gregory would do. Greg sees and presses, "for now." He pockets the mobile and eyes the cupboards. "I'll grab some Cocopops, and you can tell me all about Australian history or something."

"Are you twelve?"

"Hush you. Cocopops are the best."

"They're not at all Australian. Plus, they'll rot your teeth as surely as they have already rotted your brain."

Greg gasps. "Rude."

"True."

"So, Australian history?" Greg nudges again after a moment of mutual face pulling. "You know, I actually am interested in that stuff, and I know you've found an interest in history. I've seen that collection on your shelves."

Mycroft agrees. "Very well."

"Are you going to read to me?" Greg asks and doesn't quite cover up the pleading tone. He loves listening to Mycroft's voice no matter the subject.

"As long as you agree never to try that accent ever again.”

“Be thankful I didn’t wear the hat, too.”

“Gregory.”

“Yes, love?”

“We can negotiate the hat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Two chapters on the same day? And there could be more? Gasp!


	27. 27th Jan - Chocolate Cake Day

"How can you not like chocolate? It's chocolate!" Greg waves the plate between them and watches as Mycroft prepares himself to lie again.

“Precisely.” Mycroft’s face folds into one of disgust, his nose wrinkling and his mouth curving down in a ridiculous arc. “The amount of sugar you’re eating in just that serving is enough to rot your teeth in seconds.” 

Greg scoffs. “You say that about everything.” He thinks it’s hilarious that Mycroft has such a logical mind and yet he is so often prone to immense hyperbole. He is certain that Mycroft could lie his way out of having his fingers cut off even pumped full of truth serum but Greg can see the longing in his eyes that his best acting can’t cover up this time. He isn’t even trying.

“A little bit isn’t going to kill you.” Greg tries. It’s the truth, of course, but Mycroft looks like Greg just told him he still believes in Santa Claus.

“A little bit always turns into a little bit more.” Mycroft counters and his tone hints that he isn’t solely talking about chocolate or cake. Greg swallows around a moan brought by the images now called to the front of his mind. Mycroft is a cheat.

Greg can cheat too.

He shrugs and feigns ignorance poorly since he looks more mischievous than not. “I don’t see a downside.” Greg takes a fork delicately and slices a small piece off the end of the cake. He lets his tongue flick out to taste the chocolate icing first and silently cheers when he sees Mycroft’s shoulders tense and back straighten, giving away his interest. His eyes watch intently as the cake disappears into Greg’s mouth with an obscene noise.

Mycroft’s eyes are still on Greg’s mouth when Greg slides another piece onto his fork. He holds the cake in front of Mycroft’s mouth and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Just a bit?”

Mycroft sighs as if he hasn’t expected this outcome and wasn’t already fully onboard with flirting over dessert. It’s their thing.

All while keeping eye contact with Greg, Mycroft’s tongue mimics Greg’s. It slides along the tines of the fork deliberately before his mouth curls around the slice of chocolate cake. He hums low in his throat. Goddamn tease. Greg’s grip tightens on the fork handle lest he drop it. This isn’t exactly how he imagined it would go to persuade Mycroft into a little indulgence. He should have, considering how Mycroft treats every other indulgence between them.

“Happy?” Mycroft asks innocently although his smile is every bit the Cheshire Cat.

Greg groans his displeasure and absolute joy at being played. Every. Damn. Time.

“Bill, please!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third chapter on the same day! Rejoice! (Yes, these are a bit shorter. I'm trying to get over the block. How can you say no to chocolate cake?)


	28. 28th Jan - Blueberry Pancake Day

Mycroft breathes deeply and smacks his lips as he wakes to the morning sun. He decides he doesn't like it and reaches to pull the sheets up and over his head. Every so often he doesn't mind taking an extended rest. He may not usually require much sleep but, like everyone, his body doesn't mind the indulgence.

Just as he begins to drift back off into sleep, his body jerks back awake at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Greg greets him in a light sing-song voice when he returns to the bedroom. Mycroft hadn't even thought to check that he was gone from the bed. Maybe he did need the extra sleep after all.

Mycroft can hear Greg set something on the nightstand before the sheets covering his head are pulled away. "I brought breakfast," he offers as a truce when he notices Mycroft's scowl at having been disturbed. "You can have the rest of the day to sleep while I go to work."

He takes a moment to ponder the consequences of turning over and going back to sleep anyway just to see Greg's reaction. The sight and smell of Greg's offerings make up his mind otherwise, however. "Are those pancakes?" He asks almost longingly. Greg smirks.

"Oh, I see, so chocolate is a deadly sin but put the same amount of sugary goodness in a pancake and I can tempt the tempter?"

Greg is smiling but Mycroft pouts at him anyway. Greg knows that his pancakes are to die for.

"Blueberry pancakes for his majesty," Greg agrees and bows dramatically. Mycroft rolls his eyes but sits up with his back to the headboard. It takes great restraint not to make grabby hands at the lap tray on the nightstand. He doesn't even think to refuse the unhealthy offering until Greg jokes about it.

"Hand them over, scoundrel," Mycroft demands as he lifts his chin and waves a hand, following in Greg's dramatic ways. "It will not do you to deny me. I can beat you in any duel you may present." He pulls his fingers up together in a universal 'hand them over' sign. It's Greg's turn to roll his eyes.

He does as he’s told.

He lifts the lap tray over to Mycroft and the other man takes it with a genuine smile and thanks. As much as they pretend to be at odds, he doesn't forget his manners. Especially as he knows Gregory didn't need to do this for him. He never needs to do this for him but he always does anyway. It is but a fraction of the reason he loves him.

"Are you joining me?" He asks, hopeful. He's obviously noticed that Greg is already dressed.

Greg smiles apologetically and shakes his head. "Sorry, love. I'll be home for dinner."

Mycroft nods his acceptance although he does swallow around the disappointment. It's not the first time and it won't be the last. It's usually him saying no, though.

He does smile when Greg sighs dramatically and flies over the bed to press a kiss to his lips before he peels himself away.

"See you later, your majesty." He leaves with a wink and a wave.


	29. 29th Jan - Puzzle Day

When Greg's phone rings the first time he doesn't pick it up. He doesn't look at it. He isn't expecting a call and he's at his second crime scene of the day. The second time it rings he frowns and pushes the end call button without removing it from his pocket. He assumes it's Sherlock since he hasn't shown up yet today. The third time comes very quickly afterwards so he apologises to the officers he is speaking to and steps aside to check the caller ID. The name on the screen makes his insides jump. Usually he would smile and answer with a joke or flirt a bit. Mycroft knows when he's busy, though, so for him to call so insistently now while he's on duty doesn't bode well.

"What's wrong?" Is his greeting as he accepts the call, the mobile clutched to his ear.

"Nothing." Mycroft is quick to assure him although he sounds tired. "Well, not nothing but you needn't worry. I have to go away a while."

Greg relaxes slightly with Mycroft's reassurance but can't help the concern that fills him every time Mycroft tells him he's leaving. "Oh." Is all he can manage.

"I am so sorry, Gregory."

He means it. Mycroft is always sorry to leave but Greg knew what he was getting into when they started dating. He would be quite the hypocrite to take issue with it now or even as he often does the same. Though, admittedly, not for so long or so far away. "It's not your fault," he says as he always does, because it is the truth. "When are you leaving?"

He can almost hear Mycroft's wince. "I'm already on a plane," he admits.

Although Greg's heart lurches again with the admittance, he does his best to keep the emotion from his voice for fear of Mycroft blaming himself more. Of course he would love to say goodbye properly but he knows that this is why Mycroft is calling him. To give them both that moment despite their distance.

"Where does adventure lead you this time?" Greg asks with a not quite forced joviality. 

Mycroft sighs for Greg's benefit. "I can't say."

"You can't say or you _can't say_?"

"I can tell you that I'm heading in the direction of America but I honestly don't quite know where we'll be needed most. We're not quite sure what the situation is. Nothing good, knowing my luck."

Greg nods along although Mycroft can't see him. He knows Mycroft will know.

"Is it worth asking if you know how long you'll be gone?"

"I'm afraid not." Mycroft does sound regretful for the lack of information. He will miss Greg, too.

Greg is about to ask something else to distract his poor love when he is reminded where he is by a thump and a shout. He spins on the spot to catch a rookie stumbling away from a fallen vase that miraculously hasn't smashed.

"What did I say about touching things? If I didn't know any better I would assume that you'd bribed your way through the academy, some of you. Christ. Sally, sort them out, will you?"

His outburst isn't covered at all and he hears Mycroft's tinny laugh. At least it achieved something, then. "I have taken you from your work long enough, I think."

Greg sighs. "Yeah. Sorry, love. I'm handing it over in an hour. I'll call you when I'm home." Mycroft makes to start excuses but Greg doesn't allow it. "I know your phone works miracles, so none of that 'I'll be in the air, darling' and I know it will be late. It's not like I'll be doing anything else and you're stuck in the sky for however many hours. We had that thousand piece jigsaw to start tonight, remember?"

"I remember."

"So we'll talk later."

Greg can hear the fond smile he's no doubt hiding from anyone else on the flight as he relents. "Yes, dear."

\---

"Don't start the jigsaw without me."

Greg lays a hand over his heart even though Mycroft can't see him. "Who do you take me for? I would never!"

It's too dramatic. Mycroft has him figured in a second and huffs a laugh at the dramatics. "You have, haven't you?"

"Yep." Greg admits immediately. He was never going to keep it secret anyway. This is Mycroft Holmes he's talking to. 

"For shame, Gregory." Mycroft gasps.

"I'm not good at it, though. I just separated the edge pieces and the middle pieces. Nothing you will miss doing. Don't worry."

There are a few moments of silence in which they just sit comfortably with each other's breathing.

"Are you doing anything right now? I mean besides listening to me blather on. You're not reading important notes about your crisis or writing any grand speeches?" Greg asks seemingly out of the blue. It makes Mycroft pause a moment.

"No," he says slowly. "I'm allowing myself the comfort of doing nothing before we arrive at our destination where I will no doubt be pestered to death for my entire visit." Greg can hear him shift about. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Yeah, it's fine. Sorry." Greg covers himself hastily. "I just had an idea, is all."

"There is no one else on this flight with me besides a few assistants if you require privacy, Gregory."

"Oh my God, Mycroft. No." Greg stutters and sputters. "I mean, wow, yeah. But no. Not this time."

It's Mycroft's turn to not quite catch his breath at the assumption. "That is... Not what I meant. Merely that you could tell me anything, Gregory." There is a beat. "Not _this time_?"

"I downloaded a Scrabble app." Greg rushes to clarify and bring the growing awkwardness to a stop. They could talk about that any other time that Greg wasn't becoming a beetroot and maybe when Mycroft was present to solve the problems of his making. "You're missing puzzle day which is your thing so I though we could play Scrabble. Together."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"A wonderful idea."

"Great."

Mycroft clears his throat in a way in which Greg knows he wants to laugh but won't for fear of Greg's wrath. "What is it called so that I may find it for myself?" Greg tells him and he hums his way through finding and downloading the app on his tablet. Then he does something inexplicable, or perhaps just playing at mysterious, that means Greg doesn't have to search for his username to start their game.

"How did you...?" Greg whispers and Mycroft gives no answer. When Mycroft's opening word pops onto his screen he sighs. "Nevermind."

_BEZIQUES_

"Wait. How is that even your first word? That's not even English!"

"I think you'll find, dear, that it's in the Scrabble Dictionary."

"The Scrabble Dictionary can go-"

"Gregory." Mycroft interjects.

Greg sighs as if grudgingly letting the matter go. "It won't let me play _FUCK_ , don't worry."

"Yes, that is what worries me." He says sarcastically.

"I can play _DICK_ , though."

"I see. This method won't score you many points."

"No, but where's the fun in _KARAKULS_ when I can play _BASTARD."_

Mycroft hums as he presumably finds his next word. Greg laughs out a hearty chuckle when it appears.

" _GHERKIN_! Now you're getting it."

"You know very well, that wasn't my meaning in the slightest."

"Sure it wasn't. Just like I'm being nothing but intelligent with my vocabulary as I take your gherkin and I present to you my penis."

"Gregory!"

"What?"

"Surely not."

"Sadly not, no."

_PANIS_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUCH FUN


	30. 30th Jan - Inane Answering Machine Message Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short and boring just as the chapter title dictates.

**"You have one new message. Message received today at 2:04am.**

**__** _Morning, love. I don't know if it's too early for you to be up yet or if it's so early that it's late and you're still up for the night. Probably negotiating world peace or whatever super secret saving the world things you've been dragged to. Anyway I thought I'd leave a message just to say I love you. I don't think I'll be available much today, not until I finish work tonight, so I'll miss you. Let me know if anything changes if you're coming home or staying longer. Or just, you know, let me hear your voice. Have a good day or night or... yeah. Don't kill anyone or start any wars without me. Love you._

**If you would like to hear the message again, please press one. If you would like to save the message, please press two. If- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

  


**"You have two new messages. First message received today at 11.52am.**

**__** _Good morning, darling. I am certain you're hard at work now but I couldn't resist the temptation to return your call. It was, after all, a delightful thing to wake up to your voice. I was still up when you called but meetings and such... you understand. I'm afraid with only a few hours to get some rest I had simply forgotten to check for messages. I can promise I won't start any wars but that doesn't mean these imbeciles won't do it for me. You've been warned._

_Ah, a knock on my door. That's my wake up call, I'm afraid. I have to go. I hope your day promises to be far better than mine._

**If you would like to hear the message again- Message saved.**

**Second message received today at 12:01pm.**

**__** _I love you._

**If you would like to- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

  


**"You have one new message. Message received today at 7:34am.**

**__** _You're a sap, you know that?_

_Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't be available all day but I managed two minutes to grab a bite to eat for lunch. Suppose it's still early morning there. It's weird, isn't it? Being in different time zones but sharing the same planet. I don't know. Sorry. Stupid, really. You've been gone all of ten minutes and I turn into a moping willow of a man._

_I miss you. Stay safe. Don't do anything I wouldn't do._

**If you would like to hear the message again, please press one. If- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

  


**"You have one new message. Message received at 5:17pm.**

**__** _I find myself needing to call you again between meetings despite having absolutely nothing of worth to say. You won't have finished work yet and I won't be done for the day until you are no doubt fast asleep. I used to find time zones fascinating. Now I find them irritating. Perhaps I can do something about that. I shall have a word with science._

_Hmmm. Yes, I know that isn't funny. You don't have to be here to tell me. I can hear you anyway._

_...I love you._

**If you would like to- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

  


**"You have one new message. Message received today at 6:02pm.**

**__** _Sap._

_God, I miss you. I know I keep saying it. Sound like a damned parrot, don't I? But I do. Miss you, I mean. And we keep missing each other today. Anyone would think we're a brand new teenage couple who refuse to be parted or suffer their teenage angst. It's not your fault, though. Never blame yourself for where work takes you. You're brilliant at your job. They need you and you love your job and I love you so everything is fine. I'm just tired._

_I'm sleeping on your side of the bed with your jumper on - the faded blue one - and it's not the same but it'll do._

_I should probably go._

_Love you. Night._

**If you- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

  


**"You have one new message. Message received yesterday at 11:59pm.**

**__** _Plans have come to fruition much earlier than anticipated and my direct presence is no longer required. Rejoice! I am leaving this God forsaken place._

_Rest well, my love. I shall see you tomorrow._

**If you would like to hear the message again, please press one. If you would like to save the message, please press two. If you would like to delete the message, please press three. If you- Message saved.**

**End of messages."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this format and would like to read a little something, this is sort of based on a fic I wrote called [You Have One New Message](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727869).


	31. 31st Jan - Fun At Work Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this is. I don't think I like it. But I forgot there were 31 days in January rather than 30 and this is all my brain would give me.

"Mycroft!" Greg calls in surprise as the man himself walks calmly into Greg's office like he isn't supposed to still be on a flight back from America. "What... I wasn't expecting you until tonight."

Mycroft smirks but not until he's closed the door behind him and stepped closer to Greg. "I spoke to science." He says, his eyes bright with mirth. "They couldn't do anything about time zones but apparently good weather and a smooth flight home were doable."

"Is that right?" Greg asks in the same almost laugh. "How about that."

"Yes." Mycroft removes the rest of the distance between them where Greg is stepping around his desk towards him. "They asked a price for the favour, though." He falls sullen and Greg almost believes that some superior beings of science have requested an impossible task for their good deeds. That silly gut reaction is what then makes Greg slap Mycroft on the shoulder when he continues, "A kiss. I must prove my intentions by acquiring a kiss from my distant love."

He is grinning again with that glint in his eye so Greg uses that hand now against Mycroft's shoulder to yank him into the most thorough kiss he's ever given. That will teach him to mess with him like that. Idiot.

"Idiot." He presses against Mycroft's lips when Mycroft pulls him in for a second, less frantic kiss.

Mycroft grunts his disapproval at the name calling but the smile he has to push into Greg's neck tells Greg they're still playing.

Their arms find their way to wrap around each other tightly and they breathe each other in. Mycroft's nose is pushed into Greg's neck with his smile and Greg hums and simply presses his lips behind Mycroft's ear.

"You'd think we'd been separated by war or something."

"Who says that isn't exactly what happened?"

Greg blows out a breath of amusement and shakes his head. "I missed you."

Mycroft smiles sweetly. "What are we going to do about that?"

"Well, it is Fun At Work Day."

Mycroft frowns for the first time since he walked in. That isn't at all what he was aiming at. He'd had enough of that right now. "I very much doubt there will ever be much fun to be had at work." He says darkly, remembering the foul time he just escaped.

"I know how we could have fun at work." Greg is grinning through Mycroft's cynicism. He wiggles his eyebrows obscenely at the man until Mycroft huffs his amusement but gives him a pointed look in return.

"I believe we both agreed that could not happen again."

"Not in _my_ office."

The pointed look becomes more pointed. Mycroft will not give in this time.

Greg pouts but he knows that Mycroft won't budge. He expected that answer anyway. He agrees but couldn't help himself from trying.

"I'm sure you can have plenty of fun at work without me. You're always pulling pranks on each other." Mycroft tries to get them out of that line of thought with a wave towards his office door and the officers beyond. It works but Greg is still pouting.

"Yeah," Greg says at length, deciding his next words. "But these days of the year things are what I do with you. I can prank Sally any time I want." He counters. Mycroft can't help but grow a little soft and pleased at the admission.

Then he gets an idea. An awful idea. A brilliant idea. An awfully brilliant idea.

"There's nothing stopping me from joining said fun at your work if it is also my work."

He is grinning now, too. Greg doesn't understand. "But we said..."

"No!" Mycroft stops him quickly. They have to stop misinterpreting the other in that way. Seriously. "Not that. What I mean to say is..." Mycroft settles back into a chair as he explains his forming plans to Greg whose grin returns as he listens from his perch on the corner of his desk.

===

"Excuse me, Sergeant." Mycroft appears over Sally's shoulder. She startles slightly in her seat but pushes against her desk to turn and regard him evenly.

"Mr. Holmes."

It's polite and professional which Mycroft appreciates but he mostly finds it funny considering what Greg has told him she's said about them after their... incident. That she can tell jokes that make Greg stutter and start at work but still be a little scared of Mycroft amuses him. He doesn't show anything of that outwardly, though. He is all business as he regards her.

"May I have a word?" He gestures vaguely in the direction of the office door and she nods her assent. It is hesitant but brave. Mycroft only notices the lag between his words and her decision because he's Mycroft.

She follows him out into the hallway and down to the interrogation rooms he knows aren't in use but for one. Sally eyes the door he leads her to dubiously. He offers her a raised eyebrow and opens it for her. "I simply require your assistance identifying this suspect that Gregory has brought in for questioning." Mycroft tells Sally as she follows him into the small observation room. Her eyes immediately stray to the scene beyond the one way mirror allowing her to see into the interrogation room next door.

"I didn't know we had a case," she mutters mostly to herself. She thinks it must be something above her station if Mycroft is on it too so she shrugs and steps forward to do as she's told.

She sees her boss sitting casually, leaning against the back of the chair he's in like he's comfortable enough to sit there all day. There's a uniformed officer standing behind him against the wall as a deterrent to the suspect's wish to escape. Said suspect is fidgeting; hands wringing, toes tapping, and an uncomfortable full body wriggle every so often. The guy is very obviously hiding something and scared.

"Do you recognise this man?" Mycroft's voice cuts over her shoulder again. She refuses to jump.

"I don't..." She begins to say but another look over the twitching man has her brows furrowing in recognition. "Maybe?" Sally unconsciously leans closer to the glass as she tries to place him in her memory.

"Were you or were you not present at the crime scene of both murders after the bodies had been discovered?" Greg asks tightly as he leans forward in his chair in an almost threatening manner. "We have witnesses so don't bother lying to us."

The suspect lifts a hand to scratch at his neck nervously. It brings Sally's gaze to the scar running under his chin. She gasps.

"That's the psycho that jumped me at the Clapham murder weeks ago. Launched himself out of a room at me after it had already been sealed up and he ran away before I could do anything about it."

"Clapham. You're certain?" Mycroft implores.

Sally nods and points at the glass. "That scar isn't something I'd forget."

At her word Mycroft taps on the one way mirror thrice. The uniformed officer straightens and checks with the Inspector. Greg sighs and nods an affirmative. The uniformed officer nods back and removes the criminal from the room.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Invaluable work." Mycroft nods once politely and leaves her alone. Sally thinks for a suspended moment that she didn't really do anything to deserve such a compliment or thanks from Mr. Holmes but then she's watching through the glass as he enters the interrogation room where Greg now sits alone. Waiting. With a scowl that doesn't match their impressive catch of yet another criminal. Especially one that's been on the run for nearly a month after being so close.

"That was wonderful, darling," Mycroft says in greeting which makes Sally realise that they're not in working mode now. She isn't supposed to be watching this bit. She doesn't want to see any more intimate moments between them even as she knows nothing like _that_ will happen again. She sighs and makes to leave. Only, the door doesn't open and it isn't solved with a few more violent tugs.

"Shit," she curses under her breath. She turns to knock on the one way mirror and ask for help but she catches the moment Greg flinches away from Mycroft and reconsiders.

"Don't you 'darling' me, Mr. Holmes." Greg spits and Sally freezes in shock. The boss never talks like that and certainly never when he has anything to say about his Mycroft. "We're at work, remember? You've made it quite clear that you're my superior at work, taking my collars like that."

"Shit," Sally breathes again when she thinks she's catching on.

Mycroft reaches for Greg and Greg jumps to his feet which causes the chair to crash to the floor on its side. "Don't you have a top secret case to crack now I've got his confession?"

"Gregory." Mycroft's voice cracks half way through his name and Sally almost wants to cry for him. Or for Greg.

"No, Mycroft. I'm sick of ignoring that fact that you can bloody well waltz in whenever you want and take the work out of my hands."

Maybe she will cry for herself.

"It isn't at all like that and you know it. What in the world has gotten into you?" Mycroft seems angry now, or maybe just confused. It's hard to tell when he doesn't really show much outward emotion unless you count his tone of voice. "You know that man has taken the lives of operatives who need to remain anonymous for the safety of this country."

"Yeah, Queen and country before me, I get it." Greg looks despondent again until Mycroft tries to reach out once more. Greg shrugs off the hand but twists around to fist the front of Mycroft's shirt and he pushes him with surprising strength backwards against the glass. Sally jumps back with a gasp despite the barrier between them and now her back is against the furthest wall.

"I can't do this anymore!" Greg shouts and seems to fall forward into Mycroft.

Sally holds her breath. Greg starts to shake and she can see it where he's buried his face in Mycroft's shoulder. "My God," she breathes, panicking over her boss who is now crying. The boss never shows emotion like this at work. This is so bad. She can't stay here and watch this any longer but she's well past the point of knocking to let them know she's seen the whole thing because she can't leave.

Greg makes a high pitched almost screeching sound as he presumably inhales on a sob. Only, Sally notices that Mycroft's shoulders have started to shake too. She thinks for a sick moment that he's crying as well but what follows is a deep chuckle that she's never heard before. It confuses her. Her mortification becoming perplexity. The men weren't crying, they were laughing. How had they gone from complete emotional turmoil to laughing? There was no way she missed anything with her inability to look away.

Greg stumbles back a step away from Mycroft where Sally can see his face. He clutches his middle as he struggles to breathe.

"I can't... Your face!" Greg cries between bouts of breathy laughter. He points at her through the glass. "Your face!"

Sally gawks at him, incredulous. "How..." She begins to ask but a small wave from Mycroft who is facing her now, and Greg knocking lightly on the glass has her realising she's been visible this whole time. She scowls at Greg when she's gathered herself enough to understand what is happening. "You utter wanker! That was awful!" She points an accusing finger at him but can't think of anything that will chastise him enough immediately. In fact, she's rather lost for words. 

She finds her words again when the two pranksters leave the interrogation room to unlock the observation room and let her out.

"Never do that again." She punches Greg in the shoulder and he pretends it hurts. He's still laughing. "I thought I was seeing your break up happen in real time. That's not a prank, that's awful."

Greg does grimace and reach for Mycroft's hand but the bad mood doesn't last. "We've already had that argument. Well, discussion. We've never really argued anything. It's pretty hard to think of us arguing at all and especially over something like work, that's what made me lose it." He squeezes Mycroft's hand. "Mycroft was going to take the guy already since he confessed to some pretty serious stuff on the way over. We just wanted to have a little fun with you. Plus we really did need you to ID the guy."

"I'm not sure having me witness a fake domestic during a real collar is the same as me making jokes about..." She waves vaguely, not wanting to say 'sex life' in front of Mr. Holmes.

"Yeah, maybe not." Greg looks contrite for all of a second. "Pretty good acting though, right?"

Sally glares.

"What? Would you rather have seen us go at it at the other end of the scale again?" He asks in playful taunt. He wiggles his eyebrows like he did with Mycroft and it makes him laugh wholeheartedly again.

Sally groans through her growing blush. "I can't believe you."

"No, you can't," he shoots back and wheezes harder this time, bending over his middle at the force of his amusement.

She mutters and crosses her arms. "Shut up, Muttley."

That has Mycroft unexpectedly barking out his own laugh. Greg gasps at him.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, of course, my love." Mycroft answers but he’s all teeth and bright eyes so Greg narrows his eyes at him. "Oh, this _is_ fun at work."

Greg snorts in agreement. "Let's never do that for real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait! What's this? We're finally finished with January? Wahoo, Luke pulled himself together! In May!


	32. 1st Feb - World Read Aloud Day

Mycroft is laying on the sofa, his feet resting against the arm of one end and his shoulders holding him slightly upright at the other. He is dressed down for his day off. His feet are bare, his trousers are a soft cotton beige, and he’s wearing a pale blue button up shirt that lies open over a white t-shirt. He is holding a book on his stomach with one hand and flicking the pages with his other faster than any human ought to be reading.

Greg has seen him like this before, of course. Mycroft loves to read and they’ve been together long enough that Mycroft has had plenty of days off (although still not enough by far). He knew before that logically Mycroft couldn’t wear his three piece suits every hour of every day but the contrast certainly shocked him the first time. It still stole his breath every time despite the fact he had seen the man in far less much more often.

So, when Greg enters their living room he does the double take. He swears not entirely untruthfully that it’s to appreciate how goddamn good the man looks.

Despite how the sight makes Greg feel, though, he isn’t a barbarian and doesn’t always think to jump the man. Sometimes he just craves being with Mycroft. To breathe the same air and to share the same space.

That’s what makes his decision to stop by the kitchen and pour them both a glass of whiskey before returning and placing them on the side table behind Mycroft’s head. Mycroft doesn’t move but Greg doesn’t want him to. Instead, he lowers himself into the space between Mycroft and the back of the sofa and lies partially atop the other man. He hooks one leg around Mycroft’s, he tucks his arm around Mycroft’s stomach, and he lays his head on the man’s chest. The only change Mycroft makes is to pet Greg’s hair between his turning of the pages.

Mycroft reads too fast for Greg even though Greg can see the pages from how he’s lying. He doesn’t ask Mycroft to slow down but Mycroft takes it upon himself to slow down as he begins to read aloud from where he is. Greg simply closes his eyes and listens as the plot unfolds.


	33. 2nd Feb - Hedgehog Day

“I found the poor little guy on the side of the road.” Greg coos and wraps a blanket around the small animal, taking it from the box he’d carried it in.

“You could have left it on the side of the road.”

“And leave him to become roadkill? What do you take me for?”

Mycroft sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Well, we can’t keep it.”

“Why not?” Greg pouts. Always with the pouting.

“Because we can’t.” Mycroft can’t actually think of a proper answer as to why not but they very much cannot keep a hedgehog as a pet. Greg seems to take it as answer enough anyway with a resigned sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll search for what I can feed him and give him some water or whatever and then I’ll find out what I can do to release him safely.”

Mycroft accepts those terms with a nod. “Well, I’ll be in my study if I should be required.”

“Okay, but we’ll be alright, won’t we John?” Greg speaks to the hedgehog and Mycroft reels back where he had been leaving already.

“You’ve named the creature?”

Greg nods but corrects him. “Hedgehog. Yes.”

“You have named the hedgehog John?” He asks again in complete bafflement. He is completely at a loss. Gregory has beaten him this day and he has made leave of his senses.

Greg simply nods again, this time making the hedgehog join the action carefully. “Don’t you think he looks like a John? I think he looks exactly like John. A John. Any John.” He covers himself with a cough but Mycroft gets his point.

It does rather.

“No.” He says and turns to leave once more. “Please don’t get attached.”

“I’m not.” Greg shouts back unconvincingly.

Mycroft fully expects to have another family member in the form of a tiny, spiky mammal named John when he returns from his study.


	34. 3rd Feb - Golden Retriever Day

The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The wind blows cool through the trees. All of this makes for a brilliant day, but not as much as the time that Mycroft and Greg manage to find together.

The two are walking through the park hand in hand in deference to the thought of their short lunch break together coming to an end. They amble along in silence but Greg smiles when Mycroft squeezes his fingers and their hands start to swing between them.

Greg is about to laugh and tell Mycroft he’s being sappy again when he is cut off by a solid mass of fur barreling into his legs, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Aww! Hiya fella.” Greg coos and crouches.

Mycroft knows well the look that is immediately plastered all over Greg’s face.

“We’re not getting a puppy.”

Greg doesn’t look away from the excited dog he’s now petting. “Just look at him, My.”

“No. Absolutely no dogs, Gregory.”

“But-”

“No. I already said no to the hedgehog. Why on Earth would I then say yes to a puppy?”

“Because they’re less spikey?” Greg puts a lilt of innocence into that question. He knows that he isn’t winning this but that doesn’t mean he can’t mess with the man a little before conceding.

Mycroft knows that look, too.

“You think me a fool?” He asks with mock indignation.

“Yes.” Greg replies but he shoots Mycroft a look to show him the glint in his eye.

Mycroft pretends to be hurt for a moment before deciding to play a hand he meant to keep a bit longer. “Would a fool notice that very same hedgehog strolling the garden last night?”

Greg is a little surprised by that one but knows he couldn’t get away with that forever. Just a bit longer than a day, maybe. “No.” He admits.

“Well, then. I don’t think your hedgehog would be particularly happy if it were eaten by an overactive puppy. Do you?”

“Damn it.”

“Quite.”

Greg pouts but lets up on the convincing. He doesn’t let up on giving the dog pets, though. Not until a repeated shout registers in his brain and it gets closer.

In what can only be described as a baby voice, Greg talks to the dog. “Did you run away from your friend? I think you did. You ran away, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Yes you did. You absolutely did.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes, secretly a little fond, and waves the worried dog owner over who appears around a bend in the path. The owner rushes over and stops before them with a relieved sigh. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. He hasn’t done anything, has he?” The owner pants with concern.

Greg smiles and rubs a hand over the dog’s head again. “Nah, he’s not a problem. A very good boy.”

“Yeah, that’s Teddy.” The owner laughs, a little forced. 

“Did you hear that, Myc?” Greg gushes with a switch back to baby voice in the dog’s direction. “His name is Teddy! Hi Teddy.”

“We’re not getting a dog.” Is Mycroft’s immediate answer.

The dog owner laughs again, this time it’s genuine. “Yeah, that’s what my other half said, too.”

Greg is laughing now. Mycroft is decidedly not. 

After a beat of silence, Greg stands and shares a knowing look and smile with Teddy’s owner. He offers a handshake. “Greg.”

There’s a slight, barely noticeable hesitation before the offer is taken. “Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex.” Mycroft says with a friendly nod. “Now, Gregory, I’m sure Alex would like Teddy back now.”

“Oh, of course.” Greg obliges by stepping around the dog until Teddy is between them all. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m sorry. I hope he didn’t ruin anything. He doesn’t usually run away like that.” Alex says with a tone full of apology.

Greg waves away the apology and shakes his head. “Not at all. It was nice to meet Teddy, too. Love dogs.”

“Seems he loves you, too.” Alex jokes but Teddy wanders around Greg’s legs all the same.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.” He jokes back quickly and then mentally slaps himself at how uncomfortable that could make someone. Mycroft notices and jumps in to help.

“Then we definitely can’t get a dog.” He huffs and steps closer to Greg. He wraps an arm around Greg’s waist. “I don’t share.”

That definitely gets them all laughing again.

Alex gathers Teddy and hooks him onto a lead. “There. Won’t get far with this on.” Alex turns back to Greg and Mycroft with a smile. “Well, um, thanks for stopping him from getting any further.”

“My pleasure.” Greg says sincerely. Mycroft will keep that sincerity in mind for when they’re older and may possibly have time for a pet like Teddy.

Alex waves a little awkwardly and smiles before tugging Teddy away.

“We’re not getting a puppy.” Mycroft repeats when they’re alone.

“I know.”

“Or a dog of any age.” Mycroft adds when he hears Greg’s tone.

“Damn it.”

Mycroft’s arm stays around Greg’s waist as they walk away, still squabbling happily.


	35. 4th Feb - Sweater Day

The video call connects to show a smiling face. That face creases a little and eyes narrow at what he’s seeing.

“Is that my sweater?” Mycroft asks pointedly. A code.

“Jumper.” Greg corrects with a smirk. “Yes.”

Mycroft nods slowly. He doesn’t need to explain to Greg further why he made that American English ‘mistake’. “Why are you wearing my jumper?” He asks again. The question is genuine.

“Because I’m cold.”

“I can see that. But you have plenty of your own.”

Greg shrugs and buries his face inside the neckline. “None of those smell like you.” He admits.

“Oh.” Mycroft’s face falls slightly at the reminder that he isn’t with Gregory right now. Then it softens into a private fondness. “I miss you, too.”

They both allow the seconds of silence pass by as they look over each other. They also need the moment to gather the emotions that are brought from time away. Especially when it's so sudden as it has been recently.

"So, is this a follow up job?" Greg asks even as he realises that Mycroft might not be able to answer him. He couldn't even tell him what the first job in America was.

Mycroft lowers his head in a slow nod. Greg is more than happy to think that is all the answer he'll be getting. Mycroft surprises him with a thoughtful hum and waits for him to speak. "I have absolutely no idea how this country functions with that... that..." Greg grins at all the possibilities of what Mycroft might choose to describe a foreign delegate of sorts. "Idiot." Greg laughs at the absurdity of expecting some Shakespearean barb and getting something so simple. He says as much.

"He isn't worth the energy of such a thought." Mycroft tells him and Greg can hear the dejection.

He also takes note of the bags under Mycroft's eyes and the lines creasing his forehead. It's the end of his day, too, which means he hasn't seen a mirror to notice the curl falling over the rest. "He's really got you in a tizzy, hasn't he?" Greg hums with sympathy. "Are you getting much sleep, love?"

"I only got here last night."

"That was at least 24 hours ago and the jet lag can't be helping."

"No." Mycroft agrees. The energy holding him upright seems to blow right out of him as he falls back to recline in the bed he's sat on. Greg makes a noise of concern. "I am much better for hearing your voice and seeing your smile." It has the required effect of making Greg smile wider a moment. It also makes Greg remember something.

"Check the bottom of your luggage. Under the zipped bit."

Mycroft frowns at the sudden seemingly random instruction but does as he is told. Greg watches the room tilt and move as Mycroft takes the tablet with him. He listens to the thump as he is set on the bed, and another as Mycroft's travel bag is set in front of the camera. There is a rustling and then the sound of a zip before a gasp.

"Gregory." Mycroft whispers. His voice is choked with emotion making Greg dip his nose back into the neckline of Mycroft's jumper.

Mycroft's room tilts around him again until Greg can see his glassy eyes in frame again. "Better?" Greg asks with a knowing smile.

"Better." Mycroft answers into the wool of the jumper he's now wearing and has pulled up around the bottom half of his face.


	36. 5th Feb - World Nutella Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I will never get enough of the amazing chocolate spread, I think you'll like this better.

Mycroft watches Greg water the plants in the back garden where he's sat on the patio. He has a book dangling abandoned in one hand and the other hand lifts a cup of tea to his lips. It's a crazy day of good weather for it being so early in the year still, so they're taking advantage. He watches as Greg gets distracted by something and kneels beside a plant bed to reach for whatever it is hidden in the grass. He can hear the beginnings of a one sided conversation and makes a deduction that he should have seen coming a mile away.

"You have another animal friend, don't you?" Mycroft sighs his reluctant acceptance of the situation.

“Don’t sound like that. It's not like it's a puppy.”

Greg wriggles a moment as he cups their garden's new occupant into his hands carefully and then he bounds over to Mycroft to show the little guy off a little.

"He's called Nutella." He announces proudly.

Mycroft twists his lips in disgust at the creature being wielded so close to his face. "That's not how you pronounce Nutella."

"What?"

"That's not how you pron-"

"Yes, I heard that. What in the world is 'newtella'?"

"It's what you said pronounced correctly."

Greg thinks on it and pretends to ask his new spiky companion for his opinion on the matter, too. "That isn't right. Nutella's called Nutella because it's got nuts in it. It's got to be."

"Nutella is how the makers of the product have said that it is pronounced which makes it correct, despite what you - or your friend - might think."

"Yeah, well, the guy that made GIFs said some bullshit like that, too."

"Graphics Interchange Format? Looping short images?"

"Yeah, that. He said it's pronounced 'jiff' but you don't hear me repeating that nonsense." He shakes his head firmly and scowls at the very thought. "It's 'giff' with a hard 'G' because it isn't pronounced giraffe-ics, is it?" He asks Mycroft but his face is turned to the hedgehog like he's involving him in the conversation completely.

"Yes, I quite agree." Mycroft nods but looks dubiously between Greg and the creature in his hands.

"So stop spreading the same drivel about Nutella." He holds the hedgehog out again. "Nutella doesn't appreciate it."

"Right." Mycroft says at length. He wonders if he's lost his mind or if Gregory has lost his mind and it's catching while Greg walks away talking to Nutella. They'll be overrun by hedgehogs by the end of the month at this rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to squee about hedgehogs in the comments but you won't change my mind on pronunciations :p


	37. 6th Feb - Frozen Yoghurt Day

Greg curls his tongue around his spoon and Mycroft gives in to the need to release the noises Greg is leeching from him. He moans his suffering at having to watch this scenario play out yet again. "You really must stop teasing me so," he pleads with the devil.

Greg grins and licks the back of the spoon extra slowly while keeping eye contact with the poor distressed man sat opposite him.

"Gregory," Mycroft warns in an almost whine and grips his tea cup tighter. If Gregory continues to inflict indecencies on his cutlery, the cup will break under his misuse of it as a stress toy. He is only human after all, and humans have limits when it comes to frustrating, infuriatingly handsome scoundrels.

"It's only a bit of ice cream," Greg tells him smugly. "How on Earth do you do a job like yours if you're so easily distracted?"

"I can do my job perfectly well, thank you." But that isn't the point that Greg is making. If Mycroft isn't careful Gregory will start flirting with him by use of resistance training or some such nonsense that will have Mycroft begging. He doesn't beg.

Perhaps if he can throw Greg off his game. "I thought it was Frozen Yoghurt Day."

"It is," Greg agrees, unfortunately following the conversation easily where Mycroft has driven it.

"So why are you eating ice cream?" He is genuinely curious. These themed days are only a bit of fun but he expected Gregory to stick to his guns on what day it was. Besides, haven't they already had an ice cream day?

"Same difference." Greg shrugs.

"There is absolutely a difference."

"I thought frozen yoghurt is what Americans call ice cream."

"Perish the thought." Mycroft looks appalled that Greg could think such a thing. Their flirting is momentarily forgotten in his need to provide accurate information. "Frozen yoghurt is made without cream."

"So it's healthier than ice cream, then?"

"Well, not precisely. There are too many recipe variations and brands of both ice cream and frozen yoghurt to accurately assess which of the two is healthier. I shall concede that neither is healthy while there remains so much sugar in either."

It's like he can't help himself.

Greg's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Again with the sugar preaching," he teases.

Mycroft attempts a frown at the jab but it cannot last through Greg's light chuckle.

"I thought we were talking about something else, anyway," Greg backtracks smoothly with an innocent tilt of the head. The spoon is back with a twist of strawberry and vanilla and Mycroft can't take his eyes away from Greg's lips as he hums around it.

Greg peaks up through his lashes at Mycroft as his tongue flicks out again. The way his eyes rake over Mycroft's face and then further down makes him blush vividly. It's like Greg has decided that he wouldn't mind if Mycroft were his spoon.

Mycroft doesn't mind either.

He stands abruptly and walks away, already starting to unbutton his shirt from the top. Greg leaps up after him with a Cheshire cat smile, looking for all the world like he would punch the air with excitement. He doesn't forget to bring the bowl.


	38. 7th Feb - Wear Red Day

"This one."

"Really, Gregory? It's a little... colourful."

"It's only one colour."

"Well, it's a bright colour."

"Get off it. It's fine." Greg steps close, holds the length of material up against Mycroft's chest, and nods to himself with a satisfied smile. "Definitely this one."

Mycroft tries not to look impressed. He doesn't know if he succeeds because Greg's intentions never waver. He probably doesn't. He knows he can concede that point by now. He isn't even really trying.

The first time Greg had tried to decide any aspect of his wardrobe it had almost caused their first argument. Mycroft had come back from the bathroom one morning to find a shirt, suit, and tie picked out and laid across the bed waiting for him. It threw such a wrench into his usual morning routine that he had lashed out instead of explaining that he needed things a particular way. Greg had understood anyway which is why the argument hadn't come to anything. They each apologised; Greg left the matter alone without need for any further explanation, and Mycroft eventually asked Greg to pick a tie to match his suit for the day. At first, he was apprehensive of Greg's choices. He is admittedly very particular about how he looks. He had no need to be nervous. Now it is just something that they do when they can and now Mycroft likes to think that he has Gregory with him all day that way. 

Mycroft makes a comment under his breath about how he can't possibly wear something that strikes too close to his true hair colour.

"That's exactly why I chose it," Greg admits without hesitation. He steps right into Mycroft's space and lifts a hand that isn't holding the tie to push a rebel curl back from his forehead to lay with the rest. His fingers trail lightly behind Mycroft's ear before reaching to flip his collar up.

Mycroft refuses to blush and make it worse.

"You're not wearing red," Mycrcoft shoots back instead of showing his embarrassment. He pretends to hate the choice like he's following the last page of a script he's practiced a thousand times, because he has. Greg chooses his tie all the time now and he's never actually refused what the other man has picked out for him. Mostly because Greg is very good at matching his ties perfectly with his suits. A little bit because Greg's smile causes him an inability to say no anyway.

Greg grins like he always does.

"It would be a little bit not good for me to wear red to work, don't you think?" He holds the tie up to his own neck and runs a hand down his shirt front. He hasn't picked a tie for the day because he isn't due in court or making a statement and won't wear one otherwise. Mycroft knows that the ties he keeps in his desk drawer for surprise calls to the stand, or any other reason he needs to smart himself up, are black and grey. "Not sure it would do well to colour match my kind of work environment."

Greg makes a very good point. Mycroft hums his agreement while also somehow managing to make it sound like he’s sceptical of Greg's reasoning for the sake of their not-scripted not-argument.

He allows Gregory to finally flip his collar properly and loop the tie around his neck. He also makes note that Greg is taking every opportunity to slow his movements and stroke his hands across Mycroft's chest and shoulders where he can. Mycroft almost isn't sure it doesn't take an hour to tie his tie until Greg pats Mycroft's lapels as if admiring a job well done. He leans in to peck a quick kiss to Mycroft's lips and then moves away with a quiet chuckle so they can both get their things together to leave for the day.

Mycroft breathes in deeply to pull himself together. He calls Greg a scoundrel on his shaky, laughing exhale and then finishes his morning routine alone.

  


Just as they're about to leave the house, right as Greg is about to open the door, Mycroft pulls Greg back into his arms and into a kiss. It surprises Greg enough that he makes a quick, high pitched, startled noise before he settles into Mycroft with a pleased hum. Before Greg can get too comfortable, Mycroft twists and dips Greg who, surprised again, grips at him with both hands. He doesn't get to ask what's gotten into Mycroft all of a sudden because he's being kissed again. Not that he's complaining.

When the world rights itself again Mycroft is looking at him with bright, mischievous eyes, and laughing behind a smug closed mouth smile.

"What?" Greg asks breathlessly.

Mycroft's smile grows teeth. He brushes the backs of his fingers across Greg's cheek. "You look absolutely ravishing in red."

Then Mycroft is gone, leaving a stuttering Greg in the doorway trying to rub the blush from his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thank you for being patient with me. I'm back at work now so haven't written anything in a month and don't have much time and spoons. However, you can thank past me for having a few of these in waiting!


	39. 8th Feb - Opera Day

Greg cracks his neck as he scrolls through the website's list of many suggested themes for the day of the year. The obvious, and most popular suggestion for today, tells him that it's Opera Day. He dismisses that one with a sigh without even clicking on it. He's never been to the opera but he doesn't think it would be quite his scene. Plus, there is no way that they could make time to go to the Opera with less than a day's notice. Besides, Mycroft is working anyway.

The next box on the page tells him it's 'Laugh and Get Rich Day' which makes him giggle when he pictures Mycroft's reaction to it. Would he gasp dramatically, lay a hand over his heart, and accuse Greg of insinuating something? Would he scoff and raise an eyebrow at the stupidity of making the rich richer? Would he take offence? No. He would probably insist that they donate to charity and then sort out their direct impact with a struggling community for another day when they weren't busy. That's not a bad idea now he thinks of it. They could do that anyway.

He checks the next box on the page that declares it is also Molasses Bar Day. Greg's sure he's heard of molasses before but doesn't remember what it is until he types it in a search bar and receives pictures of treacle. It intrigues him and he decides he'll try a recipe some time soon. However, it can't be today. Mycroft would kill him if he offered up more 'mandatory' 'unhealthy' snacks. 

His eyes widen when he clicks through to the explanation of the day's history. Yikes, 50% sugar by weight? Definitely not.

Pursing his lips, Greg clicks on the last option. It's a pretty cold day and it's more than likely going to be dark out when Mycroft makes it home but he has a feeling that flying a kite is going to be his best bet. Especially as Mycroft has made him promise to cut down on the treats. He agrees that he's gone a little overboard with the sugary good stuff considering they're only just dipping into February. He can deal with that.

He can work out how to get Mycroft to fly a kite. In the dark. Somehow.

He's about to start brainstorming ideas when he hears the front door open and close followed by a warm greeting shouted down the hall.

"Mycroft!" Greg calls back without standing. He waits until the man enters the living room but doesn't look up until he's half way through his thought making him stutter. "I wasn't expecting you until late."

Mycroft isn't wearing the three piece suit he left for work in this morning. He's dressed to the nines in the finest tux Greg has ever seen. He may be biased considering the body it's on but he won't admit it out loud.

"We have plans," Mycroft says in answer. It answers nothing but Greg makes assumptions considering what he's currently looking at.

"We do?" Greg asks, not willing to say it into existence. He would and will go to the opera if Mycroft wants to but he can't bring himself to look forward to it. Even if Mycroft looks so damn fine right now. He forces himself to stop fidgeting and give away how he feels. He'll try anything once. It will be fine.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't look like that," he says with a wave of his hand.

Shit. "Like what?"

"Like I'm about to walk you to your death, darling."

Greg makes some vague noises in disagreement but he doesn't know what he can actually say to that. Or rather, he doesn't know what he can say that Mycroft will believe.

Mycroft crosses into Greg's space and takes Greg's hands in each of his. He rubs his thumbs over Greg's knuckles. "We're not going out to the opera."

Greg frowns. "Really?"

"Honestly, Gregory, did you really think of me as one for that type of indulgence? I can't stand the theatre and that certainly extends to hours of Italian screaming torture."

"You don't mean that."

"I most certainly do."

"You just can't sit still long enough to enjoy it."

"Oh, so you would like to see an opera live?"

"I didn't say that."

Mycroft tilts his chin instead of answering like he's made his point. Greg can't say that he agrees that opera music is bad, just the sitting and the not understanding on his part. He's definitely relieved that Mycroft is with him on the point of not going.

"So where are we going?"

"Nowhere." Mycroft shrugs. It makes Greg laugh a little since he didn't do that before he met Greg. Greg picks up his drink to hide his amusement. "I thought we could still celebrate the day but in the comfort of our own home."

"So why the tux?" Greg asks with a grin behind his glass before he takes a sip.

"There's nothing wrong with a little role play."

Greg chokes.

Mycroft tuts. "Nothing so vulgar as wherever your mind has wandered, Gregory, honestly. There's nothing at all wrong with dressing up in one's best to go absolutely nowhere." He backtracks to the hallway only to return with a suit bag that he holds out towards Greg with one hand on the hanger. He pulls the zipper down and pulls the material aside to show off the matching tuxedo inside.

Greg's eyes light up. Mycroft laughs as Greg jumps up, swipes the bag, and presses a kiss to his cheek before running off to get changed.

===

Mycroft leads them to the cinema room.

"Choose anything you wish." Mycroft drops onto the sofa and lounges. He waves a hand at his physical film collection.

"Anything?" Greg asks, his back already to Mycroft as he advances on the shelves.

Mycroft makes a noise of assent in lieu of an answer. His eyes follow the line of Greg's behind as he bends to peruse the DVDs. Greg makes a show of choosing but Mycroft is sure he's already decided.

With a melodramatic shout and twirl, Greg brandishes his chosen disc case in front of him. Mycroft groans and resists the urge to bury his face in his hands or a cushion.

"Were you not present for our earlier conversation? I would rather spend the entire evening getting insulted by my brother."

"No you wouldn't."

"I'm not watching that."

"Why do you even have it then?"

Mycroft exhales while keeping eye contact and Greg knows he won't get an answer. At least Greg knows he's won that point.

"Besides, it isn't 'dress up day'. So, unless you want to fly a kite with Mary Poppins..."

Mycroft pulls a face.

"Phantom of the Opera it is!"

Greg sets it up to play and then drops down to lounge with Mycroft.

===

"You're not watching." Greg says when he catches Mycroft watching him instead of the screen.

"I admit I just wanted to see you in a tuxedo," Mycroft says. He reaches a hand to run it down Greg's chest. "You are far too distracting for me to have watched anything tonight."

Greg grins and leans backs so his head rests against the back of the sofa and tilts towards Mycroft. "See me in a tux? Is that all?"

"No." Mycroft mirrors him. It is no accident that their faces are close enough for their noses to touch. "We wouldn't be able to do this either."

He pulls Greg into a kiss as the titular song starts. They don't miss it.


	40. 9th Feb - Marriage Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this as an apology to everyone who cried yesterday.

Mycroft peers into the bathroom to find Greg relaxing in the tub, flipping a page over in the book he's reading. His elbow rests against the lip of the tub so if he were to accidentally drop the book it would fall to the tiles below rather than the water. Mycroft smiles at the sight and leaves him to relax.

It isn't until Mycroft lifts the lid of their shared home laptop that Mycroft's mood plummets. Greg has left the Days of the Year website open. Mycroft had looked into what the day was today but he was so wrapped up in the top suggestion that he hadn't thought to look into the others. Of course it is also Read In The Tub Day. Well, that answers his questions of how Greg is going to celebrate today, even if it caused his chest to tighten in disappointment. 

Apparently Greg is going to ignore the other one, so he will too.

It's later that afternoon when Greg declares it pizza and film night with a silly dance that Mycroft has to force a smile despite his mood. Greg also chooses Pizza Day over the other suggestion. Right. 

Greg notices that Mycroft's smile doesn't last long, though he doesn't pry for now. If something is upsetting Mycroft, he knows he can tell Greg.

"Alrighty then!" Greg pushes Mycroft toward the cinema room and splays his hands out to the DVD collection. "You choose," he turns and tells Mycroft with a pointed finger, "but it has to be funny."

The film Mycroft chooses isn't what Greg expects. Something like Monty Python or Airplane! is the ridiculous comedy that Mycroft enjoys. Greg never had him for a Groundhog Day person. Then again, it's like Phantom of the Opera; Mycroft has that, too, so who knows? Even if they didn't really watch much of that in the end.

They settle in to watch it when the pizza arrives and Greg tries his best to have fun and include Mycroft in his mirth when he laughs at Bill Murray's obliviousness and ridiculous antics. Mycroft nods and smiles away but it's obvious to Greg that his smiles are faked and he isn't enjoying himself. Mycroft often gets lost in his own mind, thinking the worst of things over a loop. He's admitted to it before.

It occurs to Greg that Mycroft might need a nudge to tell Greg what's eating at him if he's like this.

"Hey," Greg says and literally nudges Mycroft with an elbow. "You okay?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Mycroft makes sure he doesn't look startled by the question, or anything else for that matter. It only means that Greg can tell there's something wrong by his blank expression. Mycroft should know by now that Greg knows him well enough to know what that look means.

"You're not laughing at the jokes." He points to the screen.

"It's nothing." Mycroft sighs and offers another strained smile. "Truly nothing. I'm fine."

Greg reaches for Mycroft’s hand. "Hey. I won't push, okay? But you know that you can tell me anything." He squeezes his hand.

Mycroft shakes his head. "It's nothing. It's just a silly thought."

"So there's something?" Greg tries not to be pushy. He needs Mycroft to know that he can talk if he wants because Greg will always listen but also that he doesn't need to say anything if he doesn't want to.

Mycroft takes a long few seconds to search Greg's face. Then he's giving in to himself. Greg notes the dejection and misery that floods Mycroft's face as he begins to speak to his own knees.

"I know that there are other... things that are celebrated today other than what you've already gone with."

"Oh." Greg swallows hard against his own disappointment at Mycroft's reaction. "It's okay. You don't need to worry. I wasn't going to ask you anything."

Mycroft's fingers fist into his trousers and the rest of him freezes. He didn't expect how much that would hurt to hear out loud. He nods to himself. He's about to tell Greg that it's all fine then - no big deal - but Greg interrupts him with a hand over one of his fists.

"I see I've made a mistake." Greg says quietly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Mycroft shrugs. "You never expressed interest in marriage. Well, again, I mean. I assumed it was a bad memory for you." He looks up so that he can promise Greg that it doesn't change anything. He still loves Gregory with everything that he is and no piece of paper or ceremony will ever change that. "I don't need marriage to know we love each other."

"Of course we don't need it," Greg agrees but he's staring at Mycroft, looking like he wants to cry. Greg always assumed that Mycroft knew but didn't want anything to do with marriage. He shouldn't have. From the beginning of their relationship he knew and forgot constantly that Mycroft hadn't seen how much Greg felt for him. "But we can want it."

It's Mycroft's turn to stare.

"You want to marry me?"

"How could I not?"

Mycroft seems to shut down again at the simple honesty in Greg's confession. Greg has seen the same reaction in Sherlock when presented with an emotional situation that the genius brain couldn't understand.

It's rather cute, Greg thinks.

"I love you. Of course I do."

"I love you, too. I just..." Mycroft doesn't finish his thought. For once, he doesn't really have one. "I love you."

"Do you want to marry me?" Greg asks and then hears his own words. "I mean, do you want me to ask you to marry me? Because I will. But not now, right? I'm not asking now. Or... Or I mean you might want to ask me and that's fine. It's totally fine. Do you want to ask me instead? You don't have to ask now. Obviously I'm not pushing you into anything and you can ask whenever you want. You don't have to tell me. A surprise would be nice. God, I'm screwing this up already. Maybe you don't even-"

Mycroft cuts him off with a kiss. It's quick but has the desired effect of stopping Greg in his tracks. He looks bewildered and a little embarrassed.

Mycroft smiles. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Wait. Wait. Is that a yes? Or... or a _yes_?"

"Yes."

"As in you'll marry me?"

"Are you asking?"

"I'm asking if you thought I was asking."

"You were asking if I wanted to be asked."

"Do you want to be asked?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" Greg might still be a little confused but he is more than happy to know that Mycroft wants to be with him as long as he wants to be with Mycroft.

Mycroft cups Greg's face with a gentle hand.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Mystraders, I would like to address my behaviour and apologise for posting the sad. I should never have treated Greg in such a way and I realise that now. Reading it back and seeing the reaction to the post sickens me with the knowledge that I have made so many of my friends cry. I am disappointed in myself and I am learning and growing as a person and a writer. I am truly sorry for my crimes against mystrade and I just hope that you can forgive me so we can all move past this. Again, I'm very sorry for my behaviour and thank you for taking the time to read, like, and comment.))


	41. 10th Feb - Umbrella Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining so Greg takes Mycroft's umbrella for his day at work.

It's raining cats and dogs when Greg steps outside to go to work so he steps back inside. He frowns at the misery he will have to spend his day in and sighs. He takes a moment to prepare himself but catches his saving grace in the corner of his eye. How could he forget that they had a collection of umbrellas when Mycroft is never without? He reaches out for the closest umbrella. He doesn't remember ever seeing this particular one before. Perhaps Mycroft got himself a gift. Greg is all for treating yourself, especially as Mycroft surprisingly does so sparingly, so he doesn't think anything more of it. He steels himself with a deep breath, promises himself it's going to be a good day, and opens the umbrella over his head as he steps back outside.

The morning goes as expected. Greg arrives at the Yard, goes over current cases with his officers, and fills in some of the never ending paperwork.

It's when he tries to take his lunch break that everything goes tits up. Greg eats half of a ham sandwich and is considering skipping the second half in favour of his doughnut when Sally bursts into his office. He should know better than to expect a completely drama free day and especially an uninterrupted lunch.

"We've got a shooting."

"We don't do those. Not our division."

"No, boss. Guy's dead. It's a homicide. Shooter is missing."

"Great," Greg sighs and grabs his jacket and the umbrella as he jumps to his feet. 

***

Greg takes over the scene on the docks after a quick debrief from the first responders. That, too, goes exactly as it is supposed to. He starts to believe that maybe there’s nothing to worry about after all, just the frustration of actually having to do his job.

He even wraps everything up neatly with the crime scene examiners and sends most of his officers away to their various errands and detective work after the body has been taken by the coroners.

Only himself and Sally are left on scene when a gunshot rings out. Greg can’t help the errant thought that police officers don’t carry guns as he instinctively drops to his haunches.

In a reactive moment of clarity, Greg tugs the radio from his belt and thanks his lucky stars that he grabbed it earlier. "This is DI Lestrade. I need backup at-" He's cut off abruptly as he ducks away from another shot that he hears whizz past him. He accidentally drops the radio and knows before he looks that it will be damaged. It's just his luck. He lands behind a large crate that he hopes is full of... anything non explosive. He can't risk moving from his cover but it will be too late to do anything if his cover doesn't stop bullets.

A quick check tells him that his bad luck is on a roll. He has no radio and no phone signal. However, he is still somehow holding the damned umbrella.

What is he supposed to do with an umbrella? Get close enough to a mad man with a gun to knock him over the head with the handle? Not bloody likely.

Greg’s mind runs through his other options. There’s a taser on his belt but he still needs to be closer to use it and he needs to be careful the suspect isn’t holding the trigger if he does. That would be bad news for everyone. He can’t exactly sneak up on the guy pinned down by him as he is. No, he needs to work smarter.

Another shot rings out and Greg tenses as he spins, ready for action, so he doesn’t flinch. The crate he’s hidden behind splinters. His hands clench and in reaction the umbrella unfolds open. He swears under his breath at the accidental distraction but is taken by another distraction instead. Movement in his peripheral catches his attention which alerts him to his sergeant’s position behind their vehicle. Sally. That he had forgotten Sally is there is damned criminal and he curses himself again.

Sergeant Donovan waves her own radio rather than shouting to give up her position. She’s called for backup where he couldn’t. He breathes a sigh of relief which gives him a moment of resolve to brave a look around the crate and the umbrella to gage where the shooter is.

He shouldn’t have. The crate seems to shatter and he can only thank the heavens that the umbrella catches the brunt with seemingly no damage. His sergeant doesn’t know that, though, and she calls out to him.

There is no breathing room between the next rapid events.

Sally calling for him alerts the shooter to her position immediately. Greg can feel the shooter’s focus swivel away from him and straight to the sergeant. It’s definitely a good day for cursing under your breath.

“Shit.” Greg grunts. He spares no thought to the fact that an umbrella is only a massive tearable target before he rushes out from behind the crate with only that as cover to try to reach Sally first. If he is going to go out like this, the least he can do is be a distraction so Sally can get away.

He sprints across the distance, trying not to pay attention to the bullets he can hear ripping holes through the umbrella and somehow not even grazing him.

Surprisingly, he drops to his knees beside the sergeant without a scratch and they both duck for cover behind the rear tire of the car. “You okay?” He shouts over the impressive gunfire. The shooter must have multiple guns for he knew no gun that had so many rounds and they’re certainly not leaving time for reload.

Sally nods.

Greg nods back and tries to figure out what to do next. He doesn’t have to, though. Lights and sirens suddenly drown out the immense noise of the bullets. Or perhaps that is because the bullets have stopped. Of course, that’s it, the flashing blues startled the shooter into fleeing. Greg is almost sure he can hear the scuffle of other officers pursuing the suspect but he isn’t really paying attention.

He is caught up in the fact that he is seeing why the bullets didn’t hit him. It isn’t luck or chance or strategic sprinting (he shrugs at that one in his head). No, the umbrella is completely intact. No bullets or other projectiles have pierced the material. The umbrella saved him. Mycroft’s umbrella saved him.

***

Greg ends up sitting on the back steps of an ambulance that he refuses to let take him anywhere. He’s fine. Truly. He’ll be having words with Mycroft about exactly why, but he is.

A shout of Greg's name can be heard over the hustle and bustle of the scene. It takes his distracted focus from the flashing blue lights that he must have been staring at for far too long. He has flashing spots in his vision.

"Mycroft?"

"Gregory!"

Mycroft appears in front of him like he was always there, except his air of silent panic proves he wasn’t. "Gregory. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" His questions are said in barely a whisper. He doesn't want anyone else to hear his concern but he is too panicked not to say anything.

Greg has seen this panic on him before. Usually Mycroft will stand and survey him with a sharp eye but he's been getting more and more comfortable showing his affection around strangers. Mycroft reaches for Greg's face but hesitates at the sight of bruises already forming on his cheek. He drops his hands to run them lightly over Greg's shoulders instead and trails them down his arms when Greg doesn't give any indication of pain.

Instead, Greg gives a small smile at Mycroft's attention. "I'm fine," he promises. "Mycroft, I'm okay."

Mycroft seems to ignore him or doesn't hear him. Either way, he can't be persuaded to leave him be until he knows for himself that Greg isn't about to keel over from an unseen fatal injury.

"You're okay," Mycroft says eventually, quietly.

Greg takes one of Mycroft's hands in his own now they hang uncertain between them. "I'm okay," he repeats.

The noise of the multiple emergency services around them is not forgotten by Greg so he leans in closer. Mycroft leans in with him expecting Greg wants to tell him some kind of hidden pain that he doesn't want a paramedic to overhear and take him to hospital for.

Greg isn't hurt. He is leaning to reach the umbrella now lying by his feet. He holds it out and makes sure he sees Mycroft's face when he recognises it.

"As much as I'm grateful for your super spy gadget, I rather think you have some explaining to do."

"It isn't..." Mycroft begins to deny. He isn't sure if he is denying his ownership or its status as a super spy gadget but he doesn't finish his sentence at Greg's look. "It's confidential?" He tries again but since it's a question and not a statement Greg knows Mycroft isn't really trying. 

Greg raises an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Mycroft.

"Okay," Mycroft breathes and glances around at their company. "I'll explain when we get home."

Greg is fine with that. At least Mycroft isn't making him go to the hospital.

"Okay. I drove here with Sally so I can't leave her without a way back."

"Of course. I wasn't about to let you drive yourself home anyway. I'll drive you."

"You don't drive."

"I do drive. I'm driving."

Mycroft pats a pocket that rattles his keys. Greg's face turns fond.

"You drove here for me."

"Don't get any ideas."

Greg's smile turns into a grin. "What ideas? I have no ideas."

"Of course not, darling."

"Do you have government plates?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Of course he does. "Flashing lights? Can we turn on the lights?"

"Gregory, you literally drive a police car. Did you hit your head?"

Sally watches Mycroft take Greg's arm and drag him away while they bicker. She smiles softly and then turns to direct the new crime scene.


	42. 11th Feb - Get Your Guitar Out Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finds an old guitar in the back of a cupboard in Mycroft's house.

Greg hums along to a song he can’t remember the words to as he makes his way about the house. He isn’t working today, boss’s orders, so instead of sitting around he’s taken to cleaning which definitely isn’t what he is calling his snooping around Mycroft’s house.

Okay, maybe he is snooping, but Mycroft gave him free reign and Mycroft doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean so he is taking it. There’s a cupboard under the main stairs that he’s been meaning to poke his head in for a while now.

It reveals upon first inspection what any old unused cupboard under the stairs would. There’s a few boxes tucked away with some old, worn coats, and… oh that’s unexpected.

Greg coughs lightly as he drags a few boxes out of his way. The boxes aren’t what he is interested in, though. He will probably check them later for more insight into Mycroft’s story, but for now he reaches into the far corner of the cupboard and pulls out an old, dusty, yet undamaged guitar.

It caught Greg’s attention because he never thought Mycroft to be a guitarist. If a musician at all, he would imagine a piano with those hands, or even a violin like Sherlock if perhaps they had to share lessons as children. He took Mycroft for a classical leaning, for sure. But he hasn’t heard so much as a note played in this house and Mycroft doesn’t own a piano. Well, that he knows of, he thinks now that he’s found this.

He brushes at the dust with the corner of his shirt a little but it only succeeds in shifting it to Mycroft’s otherwise clean floor and Greg doesn’t mind getting a little dusty. He kneels with it in his lap, his back to the boxes. He runs his thumb down the strings and grimaces at the awfully out of tune sound that rings from them. It seems to be in very good condition despite it’s disuse, though, so Greg takes a few minutes to tune it and play a few scales to warm it and himself up.

Greg is about to start playing full chord progressions when the front door opens and closes down the hallway signalling Mycroft’s return home.

He stands with a grin and holds it out in question. “I wasn’t prying.” He finds himself saying a little playfully. Both he and Mycroft know that’s a lie but Greg knows Mycroft doesn’t mind the good natured teasing.

Or, so he thought.

Mycroft takes one look at the guitar, frowns, and makes his way into the living room.

That wasn’t quite the reaction Greg had expected. 

He follows behind Mycroft still holding the guitar. “I’m sorry.” Greg says automatically but he doesn’t quite yet know what he’s apologising for.

Mycroft drops himself onto the couch without removing his coat. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Comes his reply but it’s definitely said with resignation and Greg can’t help but worry over the sadness in his tone.

“I didn’t mean to… um. I’ll put it away. It was obviously in there for a reason. I’m sorry.”

Mycroft grips Greg’s wrist before he can turn away to do as he says. He tugs him until they’re sitting beside each other and Greg stops his rambling.

It takes a moment of them sitting in silence before Mycroft seems to decide on his words. “I never actually learned how to play. I bought it on a whim to rebel against my parents’ wishes to push me towards classical music.” He shrugs and smiles slightly at Greg. “Of course, I love classical music, but it isn’t all there is.” Greg doesn’t know what to say but it’s okay because Mycroft takes a breath and continues. “Besides, I prefer - prefered - to play the piano.” 

Greg finds himself nodding. It confirms what he’d assumed.

He notices Mycroft flexing his fingers and finds it difficult to imagine why Mycroft wouldn’t own a piano if he’s so obviously passionate about it. Just one hesitant sentence has given Greg so much insight into Mycroft’s love of music and he presumes he doesn’t even know the half of it.

“I haven’t played in such a long time.”

Mycroft’s voice breaks his heart and Greg decides he doesn’t need to know anything more if Mycroft doesn’t want to talk about it. Greg places his hand over Mycroft’s to get his attention and smiles as their eyes meet. He won’t push Mycroft. He never could. Instead, he can offer what he always has, a playful out.

“Rebellion, you say? Well, can’t say I’ve ever said no to helping a bit of a bad boy.” Greg winks and pushes against Mycroft’s side. He knows it’s working when Mycroft’s eyes crinkle in the corners. He lugs the guitar back into his lap and plays a chord dramatically. “How about we start a late revolution and I give you some lessons, hm?”

Mycroft laughs as though caught off guard by his own conflicting emotions. Trust Gregory to push his sadness away.

“Why, Gregory, what might my parents say?” He grins.


	43. 12th Feb - Darwin Day

Mycroft finds Greg already up and at ‘em for the day when he makes his way to the kitchen in the morning. Greg is sitting at the kitchen table bent over his laptop with his headphones on. He startles a little when Mycroft leans over to press a kiss to the back of his head as he passes. Greg hits the spacebar to pause the video he’s watching and removes his headphones.

“Good morning.”

Greg yawns through his reply. “Mornin’, love.”

“Darwinism so early in the morning?” Mycroft inquires with more than a hint of curiosity.

Greg shrugs. “It’s the thing of the day. First thing I tend to check now.” He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair with a smirk. “Tomorrow, you are obligated to be madly in love with me.”

It earns him a conspiratorial smile back from Mycroft. “Oh?”

“Yep.” Greg slaps his lips with the ‘p’. “No take backs.”

“So for today and all other days that are not tomorrow I can continue to love you only slightly.”

Greg gives Mycroft his biggest attempt at a pout which Mycroft has no other option but to kiss away from him. It brings him back into the vicinity of the laptop and therefore back to his earlier curiosity.

“I could give whole lectures on the topic if you wish to know more.” He offers genuinely. If Greg wasn’t already smiling from their kiss, he would be smiling again now at Mycroft’s lack of ego in that sentence.

Instead Greg closes the laptop and shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough of this for the day actually.” Then he stands and leans into Mycroft’s space, still far enough back that he can slowly rake his eyes up and down Mycroft’s form. “You could teach me anything else you like, though.”

Mycroft hums and steps right into Greg’s body in retaliation. “Is that so?”

They’re both so close and grinning into each other but before they can at least start with another kiss Greg’s phone is startling them out of the mood. Greg curses and groans. It gets a little louder with a hint of annoyance when he sees the caller ID. “It’s Sherlock.”

“Ignore it.” Mycroft says immediately, knowing that Greg won’t and can’t. He wouldn’t either.

Greg allows him a quick kiss at that.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” He answers bluntly. Greg doesn’t really care in that moment that Sherlock will probably know exactly what he was up to with that greeting. Let him know.

“Uh, hi Greg.” Comes the reply. Oh. That has Greg’s immediate attention.

He uses his eyes to get Mycroft’s attention as he replies. “Hi John. You alright, mate?”

Yes, that, too, gets Mycroft’s full focus. John has his own mobile if he wants to contact Gregory. Why on Earth would he be using Sherlock’s? It could be something as simple as Sherlock having ‘accidentally’ broken John’s phone but Mycroft knows it doesn’t bode well that John is calling so early.

He keeps an eye on Greg’s face for any idea of what is happening.

“It’s Sherlock.” John says like it isn’t completely obvious so Greg lets him continue. “He’s… Well, I kind of need your help with him.”

“What’s he done now?”

“He had an accident. I mean, there’s nothing to worry about really. It’s just that I told him not to mess with those damned chemicals but he insisted it would be fine and now, well, he isn’t making a lot of sense.”

Greg frowns. “So he’s okay but he’s high?” He asks carefully, aware that those words will affect Mycroft and he needs a proper answer. He holds out a stable hand to calm Mycroft down before he jumps to conclusions.

“In short, yes. I told him the experiment would blow up in his face.” John sighs and Greg can hear him move the phone away and it rustles a bit presumably from pushing Sherlock away from himself or something possibly dangerous.

“Okay, we’re on our way.”

Greg grimaces because he can hear John realise what that means. “Our?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m with Mycroft.” Sherlock won’t like that. John probably called Greg to avoid Mycroft but it really can’t be helped now. Not that Greg would have lied to the man anyway.

“Okay. Alright. Thanks, Greg.”

They hang up.

Greg takes a breath and places the hand he had held out onto Mycroft’s shoulder. “He’s alright, Myc.” Is what he says first. He knows Mycroft will instantly think the worst when it comes to his little brother. “He’s fine. He’s just an idiot.”

It’s Mycroft’s turn to breath. Greg smiles his reassurance.

“You want to come help me put your little brother to bed?”

===

They make it to 221B and find the problem instantly as they walk through the door.

John was right. Sherlock is making exactly no sense. He doesn’t seem to be coming up for air between sentences that don’t connect and thoughts that come seemingly from nowhere as he sees something new. Greg understands John’s insistence on the help, though. Sherlock’s wandering around like he’s a puppet with half of his strings cut and Greg knows from experience, as must Mycroft, that Sherlock is an unstoppable force despite his lack of weight.

With a quick hello to a flustered John, they begin to herd Sherlock as best they can out of harm’s way. Greg isn’t quite sure there is an ‘out of harm’s way’ in Sherlock’s mess and they each end up just standing encircling Sherlock who sways alarmingly as he screams about aardvarks.

Surprisingly, it is Mycroft who cracks first and starts laughing. It starts as a quiet rumble in his chest that he can’t seem to contain. Greg turns to admire how his whole face lights up with his own bubbling laugh. John seems perplexed at the very thought that Mycroft can make such a noise.

Mycroft notices and attempts an explanation. “He was obsessed with them as a child. Anything that had a name as strange as our own. It was quite charming. I do believe in this case, though, that his brain is misconnecting the words and he is in fact trying to, as Gregory delicately puts it, bitch at me.”

That has them all laughing again, unfortunately in aid of Sherlock’s great escape. The man stumbles through them with waving limbs and hollers his success as the others all reach out for him.

His great shout of glee becomes a perfectly cut scream as he trips over absolutely nothing and falls face first into the floor.

There is a beat of silence.

Greg breaks the silence with a well timed wisecrack and a grin in Mycroft’s direction. “Now that’s what I call natural selection.”

It causes Mycroft to choke out another startled laugh.

Sherlock groans into the floorboards and slumps defeated as three grown men laugh at his misfortune.


	44. 13th Feb - Madly In Love With Me Day / Radio Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song this chapter is entirely based around is Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur  
> You can find it on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yW7w8F2TVA)  
> Or you can find it on Spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/1Pw5C4N6Fn5E4mGCxmbbVa?si=gQPRGqzCT6u4G3K3gTJh_g)

Greg can sing. Greg can sing really well. Greg could be a professional artist if he wanted to, and maybe almost did in his youth, but he didn't. He doesn’t even sing in public anymore. In fact, he’s pretty sure that no one in his life now knows that he can sing. Well, almost no one. He has his one exception, of course.

He’s singing along to the radio while he’s washing the dishes when Mycroft gets home from work. There was a time when he would have stopped as soon as he heard the front door, and maybe even turned the radio off completely. However, Mycroft overheard him one day in the shower and rewarded him handsomely for the performance. Now, he doesn’t mind so much if one man knows his secrets.

A new song starts as Mycroft walks into the kitchen and Greg grins to himself as he thinks of doing something bold. He listens to Mycroft approach him from behind as he dries his hands on a dry cloth. Then, just as the radio sings ‘I pulled you closer to my chest’, and just as Mycroft reaches for his waist, he turns into the other man chest to chest and neatly slides their hands together. Mycroft makes a soft, startled sound but allows Greg to shift them about until they’re swaying to the music in the middle of the kitchen. Greg continues to sing, this time directing his words to Mycroft with a smile.

“I knew I loved you then, but you’d never know, ‘cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go.”

Mycroft’s face softens in understanding. He doesn’t try to say anything more, allowing Greg this moment. He simply smiles and winds his free hand tightly around Greg’s waist to pull him closer. 

“I know I needed you, but I never showed, but I want to stay with you until we’re grey and old.”

Greg leans his head forward into Mycroft’s chest and he gives a little squeeze of their hands as he feels Mycroft drop his cheek into Greg’s hair.

“Just say you won’t let go. Just say you won’t let go.”

They continue to sway while Greg sings the words lightly into Mycroft’s shirt. 

As Greg sings that he would “bring you coffee with a kiss on your head” Mycroft presses his lips into Greg’s crown.

At the mention of “I’ll take the kids to school” they each hug the other a little closer. They haven’t really had that talk outside of talking about Greg’s nephews but the sentiment is clear and neither are afraid to bring it up in future.

With the song picking up and Greg singing “I want to dance with you right now” Mycroft shifts them expertly until they are no longer swaying but dancing with more purposeful steps around the kitchen.

Greg lifts his head with the next words and catches Mycroft’s gaze with a tender smile.

“Oh, and you look as beautiful as ever, and I swear that everyday you’ll get better. You make me feel this way somehow.”

Greg’s right hand, previously resting on Mycroft’s shoulder, smooths its way up Mycroft’s neck and his fingers find their way into Mycroft’s hair so he can brush over Mycroft’s cheek with a thumb. Mycroft leans into it, his eyes fluttering as he does, but keeping Greg’s gaze, as he melts with the next lyrics.

“I’m so in love with you, and I hope you know. Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold. We’ve come so far, my dear. Look how we’ve grown. I want to stay with you until we’re grey and old.

Just say you won’t let go. Just say you won’t let go.”

A little choked up over the words and unable to keep singing, Greg just pulls their heads together and whispers along while the song continues on the radio.

_I wanna live with you_

_Even when we’re ghosts,_

_‘Cause you were always there for me when I needed you most._

_I’m gonna love you ‘til_

_My lungs give out._

_I promise ‘til death we part like in our vows._

At this, they both blush with happiness. Thinking of their vows is still a new and exciting thing with their not quite but definite proposal happening just days ago. Mycroft brings their clasped hands between them for a moment to kiss Greg’s fingers as the other man finishes the song.

_So I wrote this song for you, now everybody knows_

_That it’s just you and me ‘til we’re grey and old._

_Just say you won’t let go._

_Just say you won’t let go._

_Just say you won’t let go._

_Oh, just say you won’t let go._

Their dancing slowly turns back to swaying again while they’re still lost in each other and the song. They only come to a stop as the radio presenter announces the next song, drawing them out of their little bubble of peace.

Mycroft is still smiling, eyes shining. They both are. Neither wants to leave their embrace so they don’t. “What a lovely way to be greeted home. What brought that on?”

Greg shrugs. “I love you.” It’s the simplest and truest answer.

Mycroft sighs contentedly and drops another kiss to Greg’s head. “I love you too, and I won’t let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without receiving nudges from Mer I would not have written this chapter so everyone say thank you Merindab


	45. 14th Feb - Donor Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for mentions of blood / giving blood but the process is not described in detail and that specific scene isn't written. This is the before and after.

“So, what are we planning to do today?” Greg asks Mycroft out of the blue.

Mycroft stops himself from panicking at the ‘we’. He has spent the first 2 weeks of February trying to forget that Valentine’s Day exists. He has never celebrated it and doesn’t particularly want to start celebrating it now. It isn’t that he doesn’t love Gregory completely, and he knows Gregory loves him more than he’ll ever understand, but he is very much of the opinion that they do not need a specific day on which to prove their love. He didn’t even need to be in a relationship to know that, and being in one has only strengthened his resolve.

“I have an appointment today.” Mycroft says and drops a hint of apology in it, although he can’t bring himself to be truly sorry in all honesty.

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Oh.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, just surprised, but Mycroft is a little on edge all the same. “Of course. I didn’t realise you were working today.”

That seems to be all it takes to satisfy Gregory, and it is, but to allow him the assumption would be to lie. Mycroft doesn’t want this to be a secret between them. In fact, he’s quite proud of his self made tradition.

Mycroft shifts where he is sitting next to Greg on the sofa to give him his full attention and to make sure Greg is paying this more mind than a passing conversation. He needs to know that Greg knows this is important to him.

“I always have Valentine’s Day to myself barring any world ending emergencies.” He begins and takes a quick breath before Greg can interrupt. “I have a standing appointment with the local donor centre. Every year on this date, instead of giving money to corporate businesses or celebrating in some ridiculously outlandish way, I give blood.”

Greg’s eyes have become wide. It is something like surprise and pride but Mycroft is already doubting himself and rushes to explain away any disappointment Greg may have in his lack of wanting to spend the day eating chocolate and drinking wine and- okay that sounds grand, but it’s the thought, no?

“I have never had anyone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with before now.” Mycroft says instead. Greg hums in understanding but Mycroft must see something else in his expression for he continues against his own wishes. “I am not against us celebrating the day with an evening out if you would like.”

Greg shakes his head with a smile. He has always been able to see through Mycroft's worries and doubts. He lifts a hand to run the backs of his fingers over Mycroft’s cheek. “We don’t have to do anything, love. I don’t need one random day to be special when every day we have can be special. Is special.” He drops his hand to take one of Mycroft’s.

“Thank you.” Mycroft’s shoulders relax immediately. “I have never been one to celebrate the inane holidays.”

“Me neither.” Greg shrugs and brings Mycroft’s hand to his lips. “Every day I have with you is perfect.”

Mycroft starts to blush but his eyes crinkle along with his delighted smile. How he ever has the gall to be nervous or frightened of a reaction from Gregory is beyond him. The man is a saint and absolutely perfect.

“This can be our Valentine’s, then.” Greg says decidedly with a nod to himself. “I’ve registered to give blood before, although I never actually made it to a centre, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem just this once if I’m tagging along with _you_. Then I can promise them I’ll book it in advance in future.”

Gregory can astonish him even further. “You wish to join me in donating blood?” He needs to make sure he has heard correctly.

“‘Course.” Greg answers like it doesn’t mean the absolute world to Mycroft for him to do this. “Then we get to look after each other when we’re a bit groggy later.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah, Myc. I’m certain. It’s not like we need to do anything fancy just because everyone else is doing it. Since when do we ever do anything we’re supposed to? Plus, we do that whenever we want anyway.”

Mycroft takes a moment to go over in his head again how perfect Greg is. He is maybe even about to say something of the sort aloud when his love ruins it again.

“Think of it this way, I won’t have to make any puns now about how donor day and Valentine’s Day share the 14th because people donate their hearts to each other.”

Mycroft closes his eyes in disbelief. He doesn’t even need to be looking at Greg to know that he’s grinning as wide as he possibly can. He is quite amused with himself. Mycroft is not.

Okay, maybe just a little bit, but he’ll never tell. Greg knows anyway.

“Gregory!” He groans at length as he does every time Greg tries to make an awful joke.

===

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Mycroft tuts good naturedly and tugs Greg’s arm closer where it is linked with his. Greg takes that as an excuse to plaster himself to Mycroft’s side.

“I’m sorry.”

Mycroft pats Greg’s hand in the crook of his elbow. They’ve been around this topic many times now. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats himself. “You did what many before you have done and what many people will continue to do hereafter.”

Greg sighs. “Aren’t you going to tell me it was all my fault and I brought it on myself?”

Mycroft gives him a meaningful glance without turning to look at him. “Would you like me to tell you that?”

“No.” Greg harrumphs and presses his cheek to Mycroft’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

Mycroft shakes his head and allows himself a small smile at Greg’s antics. The man had indeed joined him at his appointment to donate blood, and surprisingly Mycroft needed not step in for the centre to accept an unannounced donation. Greg’s enthusiasm was apparently all it took, and perhaps their lack of donors, but mostly Greg’s little hop and skip as he asked nicely. His charming smile certainly helped.

Yes, Greg was allowed to give blood and he braved the needle like a champ - his words, not Mycroft’s. However, once Gregory had completed his donation and was offered a seat, a snack, and a plastic cup of juice, the stubborn man had declined all of it. He thanked them but declared to each nurse and volunteer that offered that he was fine and didn’t need anything. Of course, that may well have been the case, but despite the warnings that his condition could change if he exerted himself too soon, Greg insisted that he wasn’t dizzy or feeling faint.

“You caused no harm to anyone but yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“So you caused no embarrassment to anyone but yourself, and therefore have nothing to be sorry for.”

Greg grimaces into Mycroft’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Mycroft would not be telling him any time soon that after his first donation he too had fainted after refusing a carton of juice.

No, now he does allow Gregory his moment of embarrassment, especially as it makes for a perfect excuse for Greg to be so close. And maybe because, despite their overall reluctance to participate in Valentine’s Day, it makes Mycroft’s heart flutter as they blend in with all the other couples so close together as they walk the streets.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In Vino Veritas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795165) by [trillian_jdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc)




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